XMen: origin Conundrum
by JADexter
Summary: Cancelled fanfic, so it's considered concluded.I might hit a fanfiction in the future on comicbook heroes, but for now, check out my City of Heroes fanfiction!JAD
1. Five Individuals

(Standard disclaimer - The following characters are trademark Marvel Comics, used here without intent of profit.)  
  
Issue one:   
  
  
  
(Three days ago)   
  
Winchester, New York. The quieter side, for lack of a better term. The institution now known as "Xavier's" has been isolated from the rest of the town far longer than anyone here could remember. This large estate could serve home to several: for now, it was nary abandoned.   
  
A shot of a bald man, obviously intelligent, seated behind a wooden desk. Something about the seriousness on his face, the lack of hair, and the aura of the man seemed to defy age.   
  
Charles Xavier. A one time freedom fighter. Once, he'd dedicated his life to defending those who many would persecute for the sin of being born different. That was some time ago . . .   
  
For now, his attention was focused on the device hooked up to what most looked like a helmet, attached to a nearby computer, via several lines of various thickness. As we join, however, a young teen, sixteen at best. Long, red hair hung past her shoulders, almost to her back.   
  
Xavier: (not needing to look up) Leave it on the desk, Jean.   
  
Jean: (Light heartedly) How'd you guess?   
  
Xavier: Hm? (Looks up) My apologies, Jean. I trust all is well, otherwise?   
  
Jean: (not sure how to go about expressing herself) I'm ok, I suppose. (starts to turn to leave) Just . . . a feeling I can't explain.   
  
Xavier: (contemplative voice) Yes, I've felt it too. I'd been dismissing it as being overworked, but if you feel it, I begin to wonder if it might not be something more. (Xavier tries shaking the grim feeling off) I suppose if there is anything to it, we'll find about it in due t*   
  
(He stops. Jean puts the books down on Xavier's desk, concerned)   
  
Jean: Professor?   
  
(She walks towards him, slowly. It was a look she'd seen before, of course, but not one to be taken lightly. His finger stayed as if propped against his forehead; a closer look would have revealed ever the smallest space between his finger and his forehead. A space that almost seemed aglow.)   
  
(She let him concentrate. After a minute, he looked up at her.)   
  
Jean: (trying to be cheerful) I take it the long wait's over?   
  
Xavier: (unsure) It may very well be.   
  
  
  
Elsewhere, 30 minutes ago   
  
  
  
(It wasn't even so much the fact his hands and feet were the size of small concrete blocks that set him apart, so much as his biting, and on occasion bitter sarcasm. Hank McCoy flexed a little of both, stopping in front of a mirror, to admire himself. A half length laboratory coat covered most of his massive, overly muscled frame. He spoke, in an almost deliberate tone.)   
  
"Why, Henry McCoy, or should I call you professor now?"   
  
(He paused, almost as if to assume his own role in this conversation.)   
  
McCoy: Please, call me whatever you see fit, as long as it's something I can legally sign to a paycheck. Or illegally, with with dependable connections.   
  
(He paused again, then allowed himself something of a laugh.)   
  
McCoy as someone else: You certainly didn't turn out to be the miserable, pathetic little toadie I predicted you would be, in all my elderly, self hating pitiful waste- arrogance!   
  
(Another pause, as he stood a little less mock-arrogantly.)   
  
McCoy as McCoy: I humbly accept your apologies for your existance, sir, and would be most glad to take over your duties as professor of Harvard first thing in the morning.   
  
(One last pause, then . . .)   
  
McCoy as someone else: Most excellent. Harvard will no doubt enjoy endless success once free of my wretched, backwards policies, Simply allow to to clear my desk of my underage pornography, and I'll be gone in the morning.   
  
(McCoy was too distracted in his self amusement to notice a figure approach from behind.)   
  
"Having fun, Doc?"   
  
(Hank turned to see a slightly taller man, with a much thinner build. Whereas Hank's hair was somewhat unkempt, his was tied back, perfectly, in something of a ponytail. He wore a business suit as well. He's got a lab coat on as well, but for slightly different reasons.)   
  
McCoy: (a toothy [in this case, more of a fangy] smile) I can honestly say, I've earned the accolades tonight, Warren, or are you going by Mr. Worthington these days?   
  
Warren: Warren's fine. I take it this is good news, then.   
  
McCoy: Only a breakthrough of astonishing proportions in the field of communications relay. (Warren showed a bit of a smile; this conversation was already promising) We're developing the audio sensors to almost frightening abilities. What I'm most proud of is the developments in the gene detecting field of study. We've had a little success, although right now, it only seems capable of detecting you and I.   
  
Warren: Must be a "most eligable bachelors" detector.   
  
(They both laugh.)   
  
McCoy: Of course. (The fangy smile again) Actually, (lowering his voice, out of habit) it seems more attuned to the X gene, as you so auspiciously dubbed it.   
  
Warren: Ah. (He realizes someone's coming about now) Interesting.   
  
(A pair of guards, even younger than McCoy and Warren, pass them. Neither could be more than teenagers, especially the blond. The brunette might be twenty one, although it was unlikely, but the odds were against the blond being able to buy alcohol legally for some years . . . or tobacco for that matter.   
  
(No loss. It would just ruin your all American apple pie image, anyway, McCoy figured.)   
  
Brunette: Evening, boss. (He tipped his head towards McCoy) Sir. Pleasant day, wasn't it?   
  
Warren: Certainly is, Scott. (To the blond) Feeling more comfortable with the job, Bobby?   
  
Bobby: Yup! I'd say the first day jitters are just about history.   
  
(Bobby flashes a smile of his. Hank had no doubt it worked it's wonder much better on someone of the opposite age, closer to his age or younger)   
  
Scott: We're just taking one last run around the place before we head out. (Scott forces a smile, peering out behind those ruby red glasses) Can't be keeping the youngster up too late, huh?   
  
(Bobby laughed, only a little offended.)   
  
Warren: Then we won't keep you. Enjoy your weekend, gentlemen.   
  
Hank: Alas, we upper echelon of the working society find our work is never done. (a mock sigh) What would the world do without me to raise the efficiency of their technological gadgets, three point zero two percent at a time?   
  
(Bobby laughs. Not totally convincing.)   
  
Bobby: Night!   
  
Warren: Night.   
  
(While the guards depart down the hallway, Hank eyes his boss warily.)   
  
Warren: Uh ho. That's not the good, loving look.   
  
(Hanks holds his oversized finger to his mouth, waiting until the two younger men are out of sight)   
  
Warren: Something up?   
  
Hank: Possibly. For instance, did you notice Bobby seemed somewhat . . . nervous?   
  
Warren: No more so than usual. Don't tell me you're getting paranoid.   
  
Hank: Possible. Except one thing.   
  
Warren: And that is?   
  
Hank: They seemed rather eager to leave.   
  
Warren: So? I can understand it. As long as they do their job when there here, they might as well get out on time.   
  
Hank: That's my problem with it. Their shifts were supposed to have ended approximately twenty minutes ago.   
  
(This time, the worried look on Warren's face matched Hank's own.)   
  
  
  
  
  
(Scene change again. Present)   
  
  
  
(It wouldn't be until a bit later Xavier would figure out the full reasons he took this trip. In a way, though, he already knew the story. He could sense something big going on . . .   
  
(Jean knew it, too. Officially they were in the big town to let Jean do some shopping, and pick up some supplies for the school. Even if it was somewhat more out of the way than ordinary. Jean stared into the miniature gadget in her hand, trying to focus on it. Xavier, of course, drove. His wheelchair lay folded in the back seat, along with a pair of suitcases, one noticeably larger than the other. Guess who's?)   
  
Xavier: Nothing yet, I presume?   
  
Jean: Nope. Like I said, I'm not sure what to look for.   
  
Xavier: We'll keep scanning. If we're unable to find anything in the hour, we'll stop by the mall, as you requested, and . . . (he pauses, sensing Jean's about to talk)   
  
Jean: Hold that thought, professor. I think we have something. Cerebro's picking up some news on a disturbance. (She has a look of surprise on her face) The power is massive. Two separate sources. (She seems frustrated, as she messes with the dials on the device) I can't get a lock on the more powerful one, but the other one seems to be within half a mile, due south!   
  
Xavier: I suppose this is what we're looking for. (The car slides to the side of the road, then turns around, as we cut to the next scene.)   
  
  
  
(Warrington research labs, fifteen minutes ago. And Scott and Bobby are indeed up to something, just as you suspected. Scott is standing in front of a computer. Bobby is keeping an eye out for anyone coming down the hallway. The room seems a tad chilly.)   
  
Scott: Relax, Bobby, before you freeze the computer systems.   
  
Bobby: So sue me. I don't feel right about this. Can we just get it over with?   
  
Scott: Yeah, in and out, no problem. (He turns his head towards Bobby for a moment) I've always been able to count on Demi Viz in the past. Or did you forget she's the one who gave me these? (points to his ruby glasses)   
  
Bobby: (Agitated) Ok, ok, let's just get whatever information they have on your brother, and get out of here, before . . . uhho, we got trouble.   
  
(A split second before Hank bursts through the window on the other side of the room.   
  
(Those monstrous feet of his, in those oversized boots, break not only the window off, but much of the wall around it. Not a second later, Warren flies in. Yes, flies, using a pair of angelic white wings, spouted from his shoulders, and obviously hidden earlier by the lab coat.   
  
(Both have something akin to uniforms on, although neither are masked.)   
  
Warren: You couldn't have been more subtle?   
  
Hank: I suppose. For example, I could have forgone the bothersome task of changing into blue spandex.   
  
Warren: Point. (He turns his attention to the "security guards," who are frozen in fear) Care to explain yourself, boys?   
  
Bobby: It's not what it looks like. We're just after some information on . . .   
  
Scott: (Frustrated) Bobby, just hold them off while I finish, please.   
  
Bobby: Aw, fine!   
  
Warren: (in disbelief) Did he just say, hold us off?   
  
Hank: Mayhalps his attention is too much on our computer database, and too little on my little demonstration of superhuman strength, amazing agility, and inhuman dexterity, and your, er, well groomed wings.   
  
Warren: Hmph.   
  
Bobby: (putting his hands up in a sign of surrender) Ok, you're right, Scott, I think . . . (Without warning, at least, to those unfamiliar with Bobby Drake, the very air around the flying Warren, and the crotched over, ready to attack Hank, begins to take a deep chill. Within a handful of seconds, that chilled air turns into a very frosty, very thick ice covering) I think they won't be a problem for a while!   
  
Hank: Egads. I do . . (Struggling to break free) believe . . . *grunt* he's right!   
  
(Warren barely managed to get inside the confines of the building before his wings were too stiff from the ice to move)   
  
Warren: Whatever you're doing, you won't get away with!   
  
Bobby: Funny, I thought we already were.   
  
Scott: (Pounds the computer) Dammit!   
  
Bobby: That doesn't sound good.   
  
Warren: You didn't really think you could get past the security system, did you?   
  
Scott: (Not even bothering to look up at Warren) I already did. Now it's just a matter of finding what I need to know.   
  
Warren: Exactly what would that be?   
  
Bobby: Scott, maybe we should level with them. They've been cool to us so far.   
  
Warren: Honestly would be a refreshing change about now.   
  
Bobby: We're just trying to get information on Scott's bro-   
  
Scott: (shouting) Bobby, listen! We can't afford to take any chances. Either we find it on our own, or we look elsewhere.   
  
Hank: (teeth bared, voice strained) Then it would seem . . . (struggling) regretfully, we shall be doing things the hard way. (With a physical effort no mere mortal could approach, the oversized scientist finally bursts free of the confinements of the ice, sending shards flying everywhere. As intended, a large chunk nails both Scott and Bobby, with the latter taking the brunt of the hit)   
  
Scott: (frustrated) Unless we simply beat it out of them. Come on, Bobby, this's my last lead, we've got NO choice!   
  
Bobby: (holding his hands up, as he focuses his power to control and chill the very air around him) Yeah, ok, but save the melodramatics for a Shakespeare play.   
  
(The air around Hank again swirls. However, before it can again freeze the scientist, he show agility to match if not beat his previous display of strength, jumping towards the ceiling, and literally bouncing off it, sending himself smashing into Bobby. The ice wielder manages to erect a hastily assembled ice shield, but with his suprising mass, McCoy simply plows through it, sending Bobby flying backwards. Bobby hits the wall, and slumps to the ground, as the wind rushes from his body in a loud, agonized gasp.   
  
(Amazing, Scott thought to himself, as he prepared to unleash a little surprise. He looks to be at least three hundred pounds, but the way he smashed through that ice shield, and sent Bobby flying makes me think he's indeed weighs far more.   
  
(No time to worry now, he's a little stunned, so I have a "Slim" chance, he thought. Without warning, even as McCoy's eyes spotted the lean teen, Scott pulled those ruby quartz sunglasses off. McCoy realized instantly he had never seen Scott without his glasses. For a split second he saw a bright amber flash from behind the glasses, and realized there might be a reason.   
  
(Mid thought, the flash became a very focused beam. A very focused, forceful beam that struck the gargantuan genius mid chest, lifting him up off the feet, and sending him flying into the wall. McCoy hit hard, but managed to stay on his feet.)   
  
Hank: (Clearly stunned and amazed) Impressive pitch, but your followup needs work.   
  
(Scott couldn't believe his eyes. For a moment, he considered surrendering. After all, if the scientist could stand up to one blast . . .   
  
(No. It was too late to try to talk things out, and there was no way Scott would give up his last hope on finding his brother. Too long, too much effort. Making up for a high school degree was tough enough. Scott cut himself from thinking any further, and fired another optic blast at McCoy.   
  
(If not so physically worn from the previous blast, McCoy would have probably easily avoided it. As it were, he'd made the foolish mistake of turning his attention to figuring out a way to free his employer, who looked like he might break an arm - or wing - off trying to escape the icy prison.   
  
Scott: (Pouring it on, wondering what's holding him up) Fall already! You're just making it hard on yourself.   
  
(Hank realized the disloyal employee could be right. Hank had at least shielded himself with a large, if somewhat hairy, forearm. He tried physically forcing his way against the beam, but to no avail. Apparently, Bobby wasn't as out of it as he first seemed; water drops were forming, and condensing into ice under Hank's very feet. Ice was forming over Hank's almost fur like arms.   
  
(And mayhalps, he thought in a last ditch effort, therein lies the solution. The beams were starting to refract from the ice. Almost casually, although with great effort, McCoy stood still as long as he could, his forearm out, away from the beam.)   
  
Scott: Come on, Bobby, pour it on. He's almost out, but I don't know how long I can last.   
  
(Long enough for me to play one last card, McCoy thought to himself, but only if he played it now.)   
  
Hank: (Barely able to manage a yell, and hope Warren heard it over the sickening sound of a very hot optic beam digging into Hank's own chest) Brace yourself, "old chap."   
  
(A long forgotten nickname he'd once endowed Warren with. Without warning, Hank McCoy brought those two huge arms together in something of a clap. It took every bit of his effort to do so through the beam. The was barely starting to weaken. McCoy couldn't risk staying in the beam's power another second in the hopes of it dying out before McCoy did.   
  
(The monstrous clap did a number of things. It protected Hank temporarily from the beam. The sound startled both Bobby and Scott. And, most importantly, his arms now formed a triangle in front of the beam. The hot beam refracted off of the now-thick ice on McCoy's arms before totally melting it away, causing a small amount of it to be redirected . . .   
  
(Towards Warren! It surprised the millionaire, but Warren was ready. The beam melted off just enough ice for him to break free with a primal scream. Scott looked towards him, and fired off a strong optic blast. Despite the frost on his wings, and the confined space, Warren deftly drifted up into the air, thanks to those wings of his, and avoided the beam. He avoided a half dozen hastily fired optic blasts from the ever more frustrated brown haired youngster as he cut the space between them, then cut down Scott with a stray wing. Scott fell backwards, losing his glasses in the process.   
  
(Afraid of what damage he might do, Scott covered his eyes.)   
  
Scott: Bobby! Get me my ruby quartz glasses!   
  
(Bobby was now on his knees, still holding his head. He opened his eyes, to see the blurry vision of the beast like McCoy and the almost angelic like figure of Warren, closing in on Scott. McCoy stood near Scott's glasses.)   
  
Bobby: They're right in front of you! Just blast them, full power, we'll worry about the rest later!   
  
(A few feet away . . . Jean pushed Xavier through the hallway. Xavier was mentally monitoring the situation. A look of worry came over his face.)   
  
Xavier: Jean, go without me. If the young one known as Scott Summers unleashes his full power in this environment . . . the results could be quite deadly.   
  
Jean: I can't leave -   
  
Xavier: (harshly) Concern yourself with the task at hand, Jean! (A bit softer) I'll be fine, but you must hurry.   
  
(With that, and with all her still developing skills, Jean floated forwards, carrying herself through telekinesis and the power of thought alone. Xavier called out mentally to the four combatants to stop fighting.)   
  
"Enough!" the voice in their heads sententiously called out. "This must not continue! While we sit here, battling our own kind, an evil unlike any seen before on this planet for countless millenium comes forth!"   
  
(All four looked around, trying to discerner where the voice was coming from. Bobby and Hank wondered if it might be concussion induced. Seconds later, a female floated into the room.   
  
(A young, very attractive female. She floated in the sky, without the aid of wings, Warren noted. Beast recognized a strong glint of intellegence in her eyes, while Bobby realized she might be his age, if not younger. Scott's eyes were closed. Obeying Xavier's telepathic command, she took the glasses from the floor, and returned them to Scott.   
  
(He muttered a "thank you," and quickly put them on. He felt half breathless from Warren's attack, but far moreso when he opened his eyes to see the younger redhead before him.   
  
(Forget Warren. This's what an angle looks like. Hank's mind, however, quickly returned to the task at hand.)   
  
Hank: I'm assuming that voice was you?   
  
Jean: No, but he's right. Something's clearly headed this way. Something . . . with amazing power. It's . . . (she shudders, as if Bobby had just froze her soul) Ohmygod, I can feel it.   
  
Scott: (holding out an arm to help steady her) Feel what? Who are you? What's going on?   
  
(Just then, Xavier pushes his wheelchair through the door)   
  
Xaiver: I'm Professor Charles Xavier, and this is my stead, Jean Grey. I apologize for being so brisque, but if you turn your attention outside the . . . (noting the large hole in the wall which Hank and Warren had used for their entrance) window . . . you'll see why.   
  
(Indeed. Scott and Warren both made their way to get a better vantage . . .   
  
(He stood taller than the building himself. A body of blue, it seemed, giant gloved hands, an absurdly large, circular mouth. He spoke in a chilling voice, sounding like a death scream coming up from the grave.)   
  
"PREPARE YOURSELF FOR . . . THE TEST OF APOCALYPSE!!"   
  
(A cruel laugh echoed for blocks around, as the young mutants and Xavier began to wonder what they'd gotten themselves into . . . or if they would survive.)   
  
  
  
End issue #1   
  
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Old Note: "Admittedly, I've changed things around a little for the story, including the fact that Jean will probably actually be about a year younger than Bobby. Of course, the origin story's not quite the same as anything that I've seen. I hope it's well received, because I'm really looking forward to introducing some of the classic stories and characters, my way. I wouldn't dare suggest that I could do better than the originals, and creator Stan Lee, one of my heroes.   
  
"I just want to see what I can do, creatively, and have fun getting good practice writing comics!"  
  
Edit- There's no site anymore, and there's no point in rambling about covers since the versions archived on fanfiction.net don't *use* covers, obviously. PS is anyone reading these?  
  
  
  
-Joshua 


	2. Part II Battle with Apocalypse!

(For a few seconds, there was almost silence in the room. The only sound was the incoming police sirens, and the vague impression of panic in the background.  
  
(It wasn't long ago, the youngest amongst them, a stunning young redhead by the name of Jean Grey, broke up the fight between the four of them, for reasons she had no idea of. Something had called them all the way from nearby Winchester here . . .   
  
(Almost as soon as she got there to try to break up the fight, a new, more sinister threat appeared on the scene. This giant, blue . . . well, giant. Truely surreal, with an absurdly over muscled twenty foot body, and a 'grin' that seemed to streach to the back of a grey face. Something large and blue, almost resembling armor, covered it's body.  
  
(Jean's mentor, Charles Xavier, was the first to break the awkward silence. As Jean heard (and, despite having most of her telepathic abilities suppressed, mentally felt) the panicked rush in the background, he propelled the wheelchair forward, towards a large hole in the wall. He spoke in both his loudest physical and telepathic voice.)  
  
Xavier: Whoever you are, we only seek peace.  
  
(The giant creature took no heed of this stranger's words. Scott was about to suggest they got the hell out of there when a piercing ringing caught his attention. Something in the back of Scott's mind recognized it as a siren, meaning the police would arrive soon. It was drowned out by an instinct to survive. It's voice boomed out once more . . .)  
  
"YOU HAVE 20 SECONDS TO PREPARE FOR YOUR TEST OF SURVIVAL!"  
  
Something about that, aside from the obvious, sounded rather ominous.  
  
(Xavier turned solemnly towards Scott and the others, a sense of urgency in his voice.)  
  
Xavier: We'd best clear the facility as soon as possible."  
  
(Bobby stood defiantly, facing the monster outside the hole in the wall.)  
  
Bobby: No way! We can take this blue freak!  
  
Scott: Are you insane? That monster's over twenty feet tall, and he just tore half the wall off this compound like it was didn't even exist!  
  
Jean: Professor, if we try to run, innocent people might get hurt! But how can we fight something like that?  
  
(Once again, the laboratory violently shook under their feet. The giant's voice boomed throughout the building.)  
  
"Fight me now, or I promise obliteration for those unworthy of survival!"  
  
(Scott looked around the room, even as a small flash filled the wall. A split second later, he instinctively hurled, tackling Jean out of the way of a large chunk of debris. She was shaken. Scott saw the fear in her eyes. He felt it.  
  
(Then he felt anger.)  
  
Scott: Let's do this!  
  
(Xavier was confused for a moment, if only a moment, but something inside him clicked that day. An old feeling, and a desire to lead, as he once had. Granted, over the years, it had evolved into a desire to teach, rather than a lust for combat . . . but this feeling, this old feeling . . .)  
  
Xavier: If we're going to attack, we'll need a plan. First part is establishing a base.  
  
(Xavier put his hands to his template. A second later, Bobby stirred.)  
  
Bobby: Hey! What're you doin'?  
  
Xavier: My apologizes, but you should find yourself able to more easily form ice bridges now.  
  
(Scott stepped in front of Xavier, putting himself between the old man and Bobby.)  
  
Scott: Wait a minute, whoever you are, I'd appreciate you asking before you go poking around in our brains.  
  
Xavier: I apologize, but this conversation can hold until later. I won't influence you against you will, but I'm sure you can agree the time for action is now.  
  
(Scott looked towards Bobby, who aimed his arms in front of him. That same chill took to the room, as a bridge of ice literally formed in front of him. Bobby instinctively jumped on, and carried himself from the room through that hole in the wall.)  
  
Bobby: WHOOOOOO HOOOOOOOO!! This's amazing!  
  
Xavier: Warren, Hank, follow him out. I'm sure we'll be under attack by the time Scott, Jean, and I get out.  
  
(Hank briefly wondered about how he's known their names, but put it aside, as he bound through the window, Warren right behind him.)  
  
Hank: Ever pleased to serve.  
  
(Warren made no noise, instead swooping high above, drawing the blue freak's attention.)  
  
Scott: How do we . . .?  
  
(The question was interrupted, as he felt himself gently lifted off his feet. The tingling in his body felt some how familiar. Powerful, yet comforting. He looked to see that girl, her arms spread out from her body. Clearly, this was her doing. She smiled at Scott. His best reply?)  
  
Scott: Oh . .   
  
(Meanwhile, outside, the monstrous figure started to laugh.)  
  
Apocalypse: "Let the cleansing BEGIN! Let your BLOOD wash away your imperfections, so that you may be fit to serve . . . APOCALYPSE!!"  
  
(His laughter echoed through the yards of the battered laboratories. Scott couldn't help but feel the smallest tingle run up his spine, and it wasn't from the impact as Jean set her, Bobby, and Xavier on the ground. All her attention seemed to go into making Xavier's landing the softest. Understandable. Scott looked over to him, hoping for some kind of lead. He seemed to command respect, a quality Scott had often dreamed of having.  
  
(No time for dreams now, as the giant blue freak turned it's attention to them. We freaks on a lesser scale, Scott thought to himself.)  
  
Apocalypse: (Glaring at Xavier) "Such a flawed human DARES violate the SACRED TEST of Apocalypse?!  
  
Jean: (confused) Flawed human? He means . . . the professor! Oh no.  
  
(Indeed, this monster, whatever it was, moved with surprising speed towards Xavier. It fired a bolt at Jean's wheelchair bound mentor! She threw up a mental shield, knowing in her mind she'd never be fast enough. And as the beam struck the spot before her, throwing her back, she realized she hadn't been quick enough to save her mentor.  
  
(But Warren had been. Xavier, for his part, adjusted with impressive reflex, considering one second he was starring obliteration in the eye, and the very next, he was in the arms of this winged fellow mutant, flying high above the blue menace. It tried to blast at Xavier, to commit him to the fate Apocalypse had decreed him to. Warren was dodging the rays, only just.)  
  
Scott: Lay off, Mister!  
  
(And with that, Scott again removed those glasses, using the same ruby red optic energy he'd blasted Warren and Hank with earlier, during their "misunderstanding." Actually, Scott, desperate to find information on his younger brother Alex, when their "bosses" (Scott and Bobby had only taken the security jobs to get the information) busted in in those absurd looking blue and yellow outfits.  
  
(Scott chided himself, and focused on the past, continuing to pour the optic beams onto the giant's face. Hank looked on in awe, realizing Scott really had been holding back against Hank. The scientist, however, didn't delay in his own physical attack, nailing this monstrosity's leg with a powerful kick. Hank bounced off, not to his surprise at all.)  
  
Hank: (Shaking his head) Now I know how a tennis ball feels. (He backflipped to avoid being stepped on by Apocalypse, and continuing to roll and flip out of his way) The hazards continue to grow exponentially. Why am I not surprised?  
  
(Warren, having left the mysterious professor with Jean, swooped under Scott's optic assault on the giant, gazing Apocalypse's eye with the side of Warren's wing; only a momentary distraction to the blue monster. As he flew past Apocalypse's shoulder, he heard the distinct whine of police sirens)  
  
Warren: Great, more backup's arriving. Bullets might not even affect this monster, but they'll sure affect us we're in the crossfire.  
  
(Xavier nodded in agreement, putting his fingers to his template. To most it might appear as if he was suffering the mental strains of the battle. Then again, most aren't aware of Xavier's amazing psychic skills. Right now, he very well might one of the top five most powerful telepaths on the planet.  
  
(As it were, this was a simple use of his powers. The five youngsters heard his voice inside their minds. For the men, not as accustomed to this sensation as Jean, it was somewhat disturbing.)  
  
"They won't be a problem. I've mindwhiped the ones close enough to see the action, and mentally rerouted them to the other side of town. I fear if we are unable to deal with this 'Apocalypse' soon, we will be discovered. This must be avoided at all costs."  
  
Bobby: I'm on it!  
  
(Bobby's reaction was unusually calm. He simply turned towards this deadly menace, focused for a minute, and began firing ice at it. Scott had not yet seen him pour it on like this. He was quickly covering the giant's legs in ice. Amazing, considering the size of this thing. It raised it's fist high over his head. Realizing it could shatter even that much ice easily, Scott pulled off his sunglasses again, and fired those strange optic beams from his eyes, full force, nailing the monster just under it's massive arm.)  
  
Scott: That's not gonna stop it! We're gonna need to work together here!  
  
Bobby: Let's make this a two for one! (It was pretty clear Bobby was pressing himself to his limits with his next trick; he split the beam of ice into two, using one hand to guide each. One continued to pour the ice on the legs, while the other aimed itself at the giant's massive head. Jean, meanwhile, scanned the surrounding area for something to psionically latch onto. She didn't want to risk bringing the building down, so using a section of the already - heavily - damaged wall was out. Her eyes then turned towards the beefy scientist (Jean had once read up on the local chapter of Warrington Industries for a science paper) as he leaped and bounded around that giant monster, kicking it's legs without much effect, but getting it's attention. The monster tore free of the columns of ice, and silently strode forward.)  
  
Apocalypse: Yes, fight! Prove your worth to Apocalypse, my children! Prove that you are worthy to serve My Grace!  
  
Hank: Oh, brother. We've got us a ambitious one tonight.  
  
(With that, Hank steered clear of a barrage of beams the Giant fired at him, leapt onto the water fountain in the middle of the Worthington Estate yard, and hurled himself with almost inhuman force into the chest of the monster. It staggered him, even as Beast fell to the hard Earth, landing with a grace few cats could dare dream of.)  
  
Scott: Keep the pressure on!!  
  
(Scott shifted his blast to catch the monster blind in the eyes, hoping to keep him off balance so he couldn't mount a counter offense. Jean mentally tore a small tree from it's roots. The effort alone nearly caused her to black out. iKeep with it, Jean. It's for real this time,/i" she thought to herself before hurling the tree at Apocalypse, as it seemed to be calling itself. But it did the job, rocking the giant backwards, nearly causing him to lose his balance.)  
  
Scott: Alright, nice shot, lady!  
  
Xavier (Via telepathy): He might appear dazed, but I still sense a great power with in him. Do NOT underestimate him.  
  
Warren: Power or not, he's going down!  
  
(Warren had managed to make good use of his time, and knowledge of the battle field, which is why the battle axe, apparently mere decoration for the nearby statue, was now in his hands, as he soared through the air, eager to cut the battle and this monster's existence short!)  
  
Xavier: Warren, wait! You're being foolish-  
  
(Warren didn't pay the old man any attention. He should have. A massive forearm struck him coming in, sending him crashing back towards the wall! Towards, and through. The others responded on shock, momentarily breaking their assault. Hank screamed his boss's name. Jean started reaching out with her mind, trying to ascertain his physical condition. All Bobby could do was look on, face frozen in horror. He didn't realize yet how close his ice bridge had stopped next to the gigantic grinning menace. Even Xavier's attention was diverted, but only for a moment.)  
  
Xavier: (both physically and mentally yelling) Bobby! Watch out!  
  
(Bobby spun around, then instinctively dove off the ice bridge even as Apocalypse's massive arm caught the bridge, sending it shattering into a million pieces! Bobby was more focused on the task at hand as he formed an almost perfect ice replica of Anypark USA's slide directly underneath him, ice ladder and all.)  
  
Jean: (horrified) Professor, I don't sense anything from . . .   
  
Xavier: (Again telepathically) We must remain focused on the threat at hand! There IS no other option at the moment, other than victory!  
  
(It laughed, in an almost mocking fashion.)  
  
Apocalypse: Such irony, that the only one amongst you showing a Worthy Attitude is the one already deemed unfit to live! So be it; let the Final Darkness consume you in whole!  
  
Scott: Not if I can help it, Mister!  
  
(Scott resumed fire with his words, striking Apocalypse, and driving him back a split second before he started forcing his way towards Scott, who was standing in front of the professor and that horrified, but still striking, redheaded girl. Maybe his daughter, Scott briefly wondered, before forcing his full attention into the task at hand.)  
  
Bobby: Alright, this's no fun. We might as well wrap it up before he lucks out and hurts someone else.  
  
(A switch from the normal. Hank would have probably eagerly put Bobby's recent strange - and actually criminal - actions aside long enough to trade mirths with the youngster. But given the obvious fact that Warren could be in serious condition - could be de – impossible, but had taken a such a blow. All Hank could do was let loose an inhuman howl as he lunged himself into the giant's leg. The force behind it must have been inhuman, as he bounded several feet back, crashing head and back first into the wall. Hank pushed himself up, fury and pride refusing to let himself acknowledge the pain from the recoil.  
  
Bobby: Maybe this'll help. . .  
  
(Bobby focused on forming more ice under the giant's feet. Hank threw himself shoulder first into the giant, even as Scott continued an unrelenting beam fired at the giant's chest!)  
  
Scott: We've gotta finish this off now before I run outta juice!  
  
(Hank flung himself through the air, crashing body first into the monster's midsection, hellbent on extracting revenge for his fallen employer - and friend - physical cost be dammed. It continued to laugh, almost mocking McCoy's futile efforts, before swatting him away like a toy.)  
  
(Bobby and Jean turned their attention to see the beefy scientist somehow forcing himself to a kneeling position, however hard it seemed.)  
  
Xavier: You must focus on -  
  
Bobby: (interrupting him) Yeah, yeah, the task at hand, we know. Come on, red. we got a job to finish!  
  
(Jean simply nodded, feeling her determination welling up inside her. Her determination, and her power. She realized the locks Xavier had put into place in her mind to protect her might not be holding, but that would have to wait until later. She put that power to use, tearing up giant chunks of land from around them and hurling them at the enemy, before finally deciding to take a more direct rout. She formed a psibeam similar to Cyclops on beams, intent in driving the monster back.)  
  
Scott: It's working! We have to do more than just drive him back, we've got to beat him!  
  
Bobby: Yeah! Let's do this!  
  
(Bobby formed a pillar of ice, sending it towards Apocalypse's chest! It merely shattered, as the giant sent a fist into the ice pillar, sending the ice collapsing back on Bobby! Jean looked at him, and turned her attention to Bobby, who lay there stunned under the ice.)  
  
Bobby: Urgh . . . (in pain; sarcastically) Well, that worked well. Someone gimme a hand here!  
  
(Jean started to move the ice off of him, when something caught her attention. Scott's beam flickered off briefly. Then half a second later, it stopped for a few seconds.)  
  
Scott: I'm not sure how much longer I can keep this up!  
  
(Xavier pulled forward, putting a hand on the young man's shoulders, even as Apocalypse laughed that humorless, self righteous laugh of his, and prepared to finish them.)  
  
Xavier: I realize the pain you're in. I could feel it, even without my psychic abilities, but you must hold out a little longer, until we can finally turn the tide on this . . . this monster.  
  
(Scott nodded.)  
  
Scott: I'll . . . try. NO! I'll do it!  
  
(No matter the cost, he thought to himself, steeling himself for the worst. In spite of the moment he couldn't help but realize how corny that would have sounded aloud. Scott smiled at the thought. Jean must have caught it too, as he heard a little giggle. Then, he saw nothing but a strange mix of his own optic blast, and a white on the edges of his sight, a sure sign he was overdoing himself.  
  
(No choice. The pain stabbed at his eyes, but he was used to it, thanks to the training from Demi Viz, so it wasn't that that concerned him, but rather the seemingly harmless fact his vision was clearing up a little. . .)  
  
Scott: If we're gonna do this, it better be now.  
  
(A familiar and welcome voice came from above.)  
  
"I couldn't have said it better myself."  
  
(Everyone's attention, including Apocalypse, turned upwards to see Warren, floating majestically above them. Dusty, battled and bruised, but amazingly, not out of the game yet. He had something underneath his arm as well. . . )  
  
Jean: You're ok! We thought . . .  
  
Warren: Maybe I'll have even more surprises for you later, but this one's just for our new friend here.  
  
(Apocalypse starred at him, before raising his hand to attack, only to have Warren fire the beam at him, A surge of electricity spider webbed out of the gun, surrounding the monster and sending him into convulsions!)  
  
Xaiver: (Prodding Scott) Aim for the knee!  
  
(Scott responded without bothering to ask why, although it was more like a jerk forward on his head.)  
  
Scott: (annoyed) Hey, I hear you fine, hotshot! No reason to force my hand!  
  
(Xavier didn't respond. Summers shook off the miffed feeling, focusing on the task at hand. It didn't take long. Apocalypse was rocked back and forth from whatever Warren was firing. Within a few seconds. . . . an explosion rocked the youngsters and Xavier! A bright light blinded them for a few seconds. As they recovered, they noticed Apocalypse was still regaining himself. Parts of his knee, however, were peeled back, revealing what looked like steel and circuitry. Jean looked to the professor, not sure what she saw.)  
  
Jean: Professor, what . . . is it?  
  
(Warren's response was another blast, aimed at the exposed knee. Apocalypse stumbled forward, only to be caught by a powerful blast from Scott, and a somewhat weak ice blast from the still recovering Bobby Drake.)  
  
Scott; Pour it on, team! (The "team" thing came naturally, although it occurred immediately to Scott it didn't really fit) We can do this!  
  
(The five individuals flew into action. Warren dodged under one of Apocalypse's wailing arms, and nailed him in the head with a double kick dive. Beast tumbled forward, ending up with a cannonball kick of his own on the massive . . . robot? Android? It certainly seemed that way to McCoy at the moment.)  
  
Hank: Hard to believe I'm fighting the world's biggest Bop-it toy.  
  
Scott: Don't get cocky, Mr. McCoy. He's not out of this yet.  
  
Apocalypse: Indeed I am not. (His gazed turned towards Summers, as the monster tried to advance) Nor shall I be.  
  
(With a mighty swing of his hand, he caught Bobby on his ice bridge, Warren trying to swoop around, and Hank launching his own semi aerial assault.)  
  
Scott: Alright, lady, I hope you got something good up your sleeve.  
  
(Jean was struggling to keep her composure until that point. Suddenly, anger replaced concern for her fellow mutants, even as her fear was replaced by a bitter determination. Within seconds, Apocalypse screamed out, seemingly in agony. It was almost like a howl, combined with an air raid siren. The other mutants pulled their wits together, and began attacking. With a sheer whistle, it feel asunder upon itself, before suddenly. . .)  
  
Xaiver: Jean, you must protect us! It's going to . . .!  
  
(Explode? With a vengeance! Scott dropped his rupy quartz back in place just in time, throwing his arms over his head instinctively. Strangely enough, he only felt a mild shock. His eyes sprung open to see the explosion bouncing off an almost invisible . . . . line. . . shield in front of them.)  
  
Hank: (In shock) Oh my stars, blue skies, and angels.  
  
Bobby: Whoa.  
  
(The blast fell upon that . . . shield, although it was impossible to tell it's source simply by looking at it.)  
  
Warren: (turning to Xavier) Nice move.  
  
Xavier: Actually, it wasn't me.  
  
(The four of them turned to the young redhead, shocked.)  
  
Jean: (Sheepishly) I know; it as a little amateurish, right? Don't worry, I'm starting to get the hang of it.  
  
Bobby: (shocked disbelief) Amateurish?! More like. . .   
  
Warren: Amazing.  
  
Xavier: I believe we'd best depart now. It would seem we can expect more legal intervention than even I could handle alone. Not that I wish to influence people unduly if it can be avoided.  
  
Scott: (Bitter amusement) Good policy choice. Hopefully you won't be tempted to change your mind after this. (Scott turned towards the battle scene) He's coming to!  
  
Jean: No, don't!!  
  
(Jean caught onto a stray thought from the stranger. Warren and Hank, however, promptly turned their attention towards the remains of the robotic menace, assuming Scott had meant it was reviving somehow. Even Xavier shifted his eyes, expecting another attack. Bobby, on the other hand, took Scott's signal correctly. Within seconds, he'd trapped everyone other than himself and Scott in a thick dome of ice. Hank sighed, realizing they'd been duped.)  
  
Hank: This is undoubtedly the most literal cold shoulder I've ever been given, and believe me, I've been given some rather literal ones in my time.  
  
(Hank threw a fist at the shield of ice, cracking it. However, he also grabbed his hand.)  
  
Warren: Careful, hotshot.  
  
Hank: To quote philosopher I Ching, i"A person in danger should not try to escape at one stroke. He should first calmly hold his own, then be satisfied with small gains, which will come by creative adaptations."/i Of course, there's always the more direct approach.  
  
(With that, Hank pivoted with a grace surprising, bringing the heel of that oversized boot into the ice shield, creating a hole big enough for them to sneak through.)  
  
Warren: They're gone! We better hurry if . . .   
  
Xavier: One moment, Mr. Worthington. While I believe it shall be prudent to track these two individuals down, I require a word with you. Allow me to introduce myself. I'm Charles Xavier.  
  
(Hank's eyes went wide. Even Warren seemed a little impressed.)  
  
Warren: I remember the name from a few years ago. Seems you were pretty active in the equality rights campaign a few years ago, until you mysteriously vanished from the public scene.  
  
Hank: More relevantly, this is an individual to whom I owe a great dept.  
  
Warren: Oh?  
  
Xavier: I hate to interlope, but I believe it would be in our best benefits to quietly depart immediately. I request you join us.  
  
Warren: Sorry, we. . .  
  
(Hank put his oversized hand over Warren's mouth, to his employer's mouth.)  
  
Hank: We'd be delighted. (He turned to Warren) Right, boss?  
  
(Warren nodded, obviously confused.)  
  
Hank: Don't worry, I'll explain in due time.  
  
Xavier: I'll pull around front. Be sure to be there under a minute.  
  
(Xavier and Jean quickly departed to where they'd parked, while Warren rushed to keep up with Hank.)  
  
Warren: This better be good.  
  
(Our last image is of Hank smiling, as he replied.)  
  
Hank: I'm not sure about good, but it will certainly be . . . interesting.  
  
(End story) 


	3. Circus freaks

# # Everyone come see the greatest show! # #  
  
# # Invite everybody that you know! # #  
  
# # Come and be down with the clownz! # #  
  
# # Give it to me! # #  
  
# # The magical thug carnival's in town! # #  
  
"The Great Show" by Insane Clown Posse  
  
(The possibility occurred to Bobby Drake about fifty miles ago that if that strange bald guy, and that beautiful redhead - her name was Jean, right? - might have been able to stop him and Scott if they'd really want to. After all, they were telepaths, right? That seemed pretty obvious. And telepaths could control minds. . . right? If they wanted to stop Scott and Bobby, they'd have done when Bobby and Scott tried to escape. Besides, they'd all battled together against that . . . robotic Apocalypse, or whatever it was. Maybe they should turn back.  
  
(Bobby brought that up about twenty five miles ago. Scott reminded Bobby that they basically came across as trying to steal from a major corporation, and they still had to regroup and figure what they were doing. Scott admitted they probably should have stayed, but right now, it was best to stick by their decisions.  
  
(Bobby reluctantly agreed, which was partly why they were still zipping down the highway.)  
  
Bobby: Alright, can we slow down now? I'm sure we've more than lost them.  
  
(No response at first. Scott looked towards the rear view mirror, obviously trying to scan behind them.)  
  
Bobby: Seriously, we do not wanna be getting pulled over, do we?  
  
Scott: Yeah, good point.  
  
(As Scott finally started to slow the Porsche, Bobby noticed something a billboard fast approaching. He quickly pointed it out to Scott. . .)  
  
Bobby: What we need is a little diversion, a chance to enjoy ourselves. (Bobby flashed a very suspicious smile) Kick back, watch a few circus babes.  
  
(Scott's smile was a little more innocent, somehow, and definitely less heartfelt at the moment.)  
  
Scott: I do like a good circus babe.  
  
Bobby: I know you do!  
  
Scott: I don't know, though, maybe we better put that on the back burner until we get out of state.  
  
Bobby: We're already in Pennsylvania, ya know? Were you thinking Indiana, or were you planning to hang out til Detroit or Illinois?  
  
Scott: Penn. . . right. I'm not so sure about stopping. I'm nervous enough without having to constantly worry they'll catch up with us.  
  
Bobby: All the more reason for us to go, my man.  
  
(Bobby smiled. He knew he had this one won.)  
  
Scott: How so?  
  
Bobby: Stress, Scotty. Stress. I mean, no offense, but if you're honestly worried they'd be following us this long, just waiting for us to pull over into a public hotspot . . .  
  
(Scott almost smiled again. Almost. Bobby had a point.)  
  
Bobby: Sides, it said there's an amusement park there, too. (Bobby nudged Scott playfully with his elbow) Win a stuffed puppy for one of those circus babes.  
  
Scott: Ok, ok, I get the point, hotshot.  
  
Bobby: Well, all right! Circus, here we come!  
  
(Indeed, here they come. The question is are they ready for what they'll find? Because, you just know something is probably going to happen. Certainly a feeling Warren Worthington, III echoed, several hundreds of miles elsewhere. McCoy couldn't help but reflect on what had happened, to bring Xavier back into his life, and the especially odd circumstances surrounding the memorable moment. Circumstances he now felt obliged to explain to Warren.  
  
(Not that the words were coming easy for the normally outspoken scientist. Right now, he and Warren sat across from one another at a table in a fairly typical quiet little diner. The professor and that young redhead would be there soon, Hank figured, so now might be a good time to catch his friend up.  
  
(Still, they sat there, nothing said, waiting. That is, until Warren decided to break the ice.  
  
(Ok, bad choice of words.)  
  
Warren: I just thought of something. The way we took off from the scene, I hope we don't get the blame for this by the cops.  
  
Hank: (Shaking his head) A valid concern. (he shakes the worry off, nevertheless) Still, I'm sure once you give them a call and work your golden toothed magic, the formalities will straighten themselves out in no time.  
  
Warren: Yeah, I hope. . . In the meantime, what's up with this Xavier fellow?  
  
(Hank rubbed his temple with an oversized hand.)  
  
Warren: Long story?  
  
Hank: Complex story, at any rate.  
  
Warren: Then give me the express version. I'm sure our guests'll be showing up any minute.  
  
Hank: (unconsciously shifting his eyes around the room) It was right before the end of high school. Remember me mentioning the incident of a group named Onslaught?  
  
Warren: Your father's group?  
  
Hank: (expectedly bitter) That would be them. Yes.  
  
Warren: I remember them, but it's been over a decade since they've been together, you said. Any reason their name comes up now?  
  
Hank: Remember a telepaths named Cerebro?  
  
Warren: Yeah, why?  
  
(It only takes a second for Warren to put two and two together.)  
  
Warren: Wait, so he's related to this, right? Was it that redhead's father or something? No? It wasn't the old man, was it?  
  
(Hank nodded, almost solemnly.)  
  
Hank: T'was a while ago, wasn't it? I don't know if they're related, though I'm assuming they're not.  
  
(Warren looks towards the window, where he sees the two pulling into the parking lot.)  
  
Warren: They don't look it.  
  
Hank: Anyway, to summarize, this was the individual that helped a much wilder Henry McCoy than the charming physiological specimen you see before you.  
  
Warren: "A much wilder" Henry McCoy? There's a scary thought.  
  
Hank: More than you know. He was a huge help when I was younger. .. . when I had to find myself, so to speak. (Hank pauses to reflect) He even helped me get into a respectable college.  
  
Warren: Really? This IS getting interesting.  
  
(Warren looks up to see Xavier and Jean enter.)  
  
Hank: Looks like it's about to get even more interesting, too.  
  
Warren: Right. Guess the rest of the story will have to wait.  
  
(We'll leave that story, and turn our attention to another part of our story . .   
  
(Fred J. Dukes wasn't particularly enjoying the afternoon per say. After all, the same problems that were here every night were here tonight, and pretty much en mass. For one he was sharing a dressing room again, and once again it wasn't with any of the chicks, and two, it was probably gonna rain out, and three, he hadn't gone out, but he was sure the people were gonna be especially assmoronic tonight. Four, it was . . . . Ah, he had something he wanted to fume over, but he couldn't remember it. Stupid racket outside.   
  
(Still, he was pretty sure that was problem number five or six, not four. Fred shook his head - this was getting to be a headache. Maybe hitting the boys up for some more taffy apples would cheer him up, even if they were being way too stingy with the freebies, Dukes thought as he wondered off.  
  
(The other occupant of the dresser room just barely looked up in response to him randomly storming off. The unmistakable features of Crusher Hogan. Hardly the life the until - recently successful wrestler was used to. He'd told himself to put the past out of the picture, but what had he come to?   
  
(Wrestling with a couple of scrawny nobodies, against some oversized kid. Please. They could take all three of them, and anyone else they could find, and Crusher'd take them all apart. Just like he woulda taken that punk Spider kid apart without any problem two months ago. Ohe month ago? However long it was. This wasn't a chance to redeem himself, or recapture the so recently lost spotlight. At least it was a few bucks, and a chance to keep from dying of boredom.  
  
(Not that the prospect of beating up some over rated fat kid seemed very entertaining. Suddenly, Crusher threw his beer can, only half empty, to the floor. The more he thought about it . . . the more he was looking forward to making the most out of some raw bodies.  
  
(Maybe I'll beat those two kids to a pulp too, just for a treat for all these drunks, he thought to himself. "Yeah, That sounds like a lot more fun."  
  
(There was no denying, this particular circus/ carnival felt sleazy and amateurish. Still, they seemed to be making the most of what they had. Scott and Bobby found a row of tables to sit down at, not long after paying their entrance fee. The food smelled a lot better than Bobby expected. It also smelled greasy. Very greasy.  
  
Bobby: See? Don't you feel better already?  
  
Scott: Honestly? No.  
  
(Awkward silence. Scott breaks it.)  
  
Scott: Although it's been a while since I've had a pizza burger. Come to think if it, I'm not sure I ever have had a pizza burger.  
  
(Bobby smiles. Maybe it's a bit of a fake smile, but his intentions at least are noble. Scott responds, not by smiling, but at least by easing up on that dejected, depressed, ultra serious look that had been on his face since . . . let's see, how long had Bobby known him now?  
  
(Maybe that was a tad of an exaggeration, but not much.)  
  
"Hey, guys, mind if I join you?"  
  
(Bobby looked up to see a fairly powerful figure. Kid looked stronger than Scott, or Warren for that matter. More than that, he looked in shape.  
  
(Probably Bobby's age.)  
  
Bobby: Sure, why not? Don't mind Prince Charming here. (Bobby puts his hand over his mouth) Girl problems. Ya know how they are.  
  
(The newcomer sat down. Most of his hair was blond - with a dark brown streak up each side. He had on jeans, and a hooded sweatshirt.)  
  
"Thanks. Oh, I'm Stevie Sherman. I just signed to wrestle here, but to be honest. . . . (Stevie glances over at the fairly large circus tent) Too many idiots back there for my taste."  
  
Bobby: There's gonna be wrestling tonight? Wow . . . This place might actually be worth the cover price.  
  
Scott: We'll see . . .   
  
(Stevie smiles.)  
  
Stevie: So you're gonna check it out, right?  
  
Bobby: Damned right! Pardon my language.  
  
Scott: (half heartedly) Can't hurt, I guess.  
  
Stevie: You gotta check it out! Crusher Hogan's gonna be in the match!  
  
Bobby: No way! I thought he killed himself after losing to some teenager.  
  
Stevie: I heard the kid was some kinda freak, anyway. But I guess he's alive. Of course, I didn't wanna get close enough to him to find out the hard way.  
  
(Stevie shook his head, not enjoying the memory of his almost- meeting with the fallen superstar.)  
  
Bobby: Big star syndrome? Fame, always goes to their head.  
  
Stevie: More like dejected star syndrome. Didn't you hear? After he got his butt handed to him by that rookie freak, he ended up being tossed out of the federation. Not even a week later. Of course, HE thinks it's because of the loss, and his attitude had nothing to do with it. (Stevie shakes his head) I feel sorry for that Blob kid. Good as he is, this one's gonna get ugly. I'm just glad I'm on his side.  
  
Bobby: Why are you on his side, anyway? If anything, I'd figure they'd match Crusher against the three small timers. (Bobby pauses) Er, no offense intended.  
  
(Stevie laughs.)  
  
Stevie: None taken, and to be honest, I don't know. I guess cause Blob's so . . . big. Strong as an ox, too.  
  
Bobby: I'm sure you'll take him.  
  
Stevie: I hope so.  
  
"I know so."  
  
(Scott didn't even seem to notice the new voice. Bobby and Stevie, however, looked up to see the newcomer. He looked rather short, standing maybe five foot six, but he looked a fair deal stronger than Stefan, too. Long stringy black hair hung unkempt over a confident face. The inexperienced showed, sure, but it didn't seem like something that'd affect him. He had on a cheap looking shirt that said, "Mickey D.")  
  
Stevie: Oh, Mike. Guys, this's my partner tonight, Mike.  
  
(The two quickly grasp hands.)  
  
Stevie: What's up, Mike?  
  
Mike: Not much, partnah. Just thinking about how we're gonna tear the place up tonight. I think I know what we need to do.  
  
Stevie: Yeah? Good to hear. Oh, this's Bobby and Scott. They're passing through town, thought they'd give our match a looksee.  
  
Mike: Hiya, guys, and I think you'll like what you see! Me and you, Stevie, I've been thinking. I think we tear this Blub a new hole before that drunken nobody has a chance to get to the ring! You down with that?  
  
(Stevie sits back down, a worried look on his face.)  
  
Stevie: I don't know. This Blob's a tough kid. I don't think we could take him alone.  
  
Mike: Sure we can. He's just a fat kid.  
  
(Stevie turns to Bobby.)  
  
Stevie: Actually, this kid picked up a car off the ground last week.  
  
Bobby: Wow. . .  
  
Scott: Yeah, well, that sounds a whole lot like special effects to me.  
  
Mike: Exactly! I can't prove it, but something's not on the up and up.  
  
Stevie: Maybe he's one of those freaks, like I was telling you about.  
  
Bobby: Uh . . . freaks?  
  
Stevie: Yeah. Geez, don't you guys get out anymore? They're all over the state. (Stevie turns, his hands getting a bit expressive) I mean, just a month ago, there's this huge story about this one freak that's spitting fire out of his hands, using it to rob a bank. Kinda reminds me of those stories my dad told me about a Human Torch in one of the World Wars.  
  
Bobby: Yeah, well, did anything see anything?  
  
(Stevie shrugs.)  
  
Mike: A lot of people sure seemed to think they saw it. And what about all those sasaquatch sightings up in Canada?  
  
(Bobby laughs, albeit a bit nervously.)  
  
Bobby: Yeah, like all those UFO sightings.  
  
(Scott finally got into the conversation.)  
  
Scott: You know what they say. Don't believe half of what you see, and anything you read.  
  
(The four laugh, more or less. Mike pats Stevie on the back.)  
  
Mike: Hey, we better go check with the promoter. I'm sure we're gonna have to get down to business soon.  
  
Stevie: Yeah. You know something? I think we can take this guy, Mikey.  
  
(Mike seemed pumped.)  
  
Mike: Yeah! Let's go do this!  
  
Bobby: Good luck, guys! (Bobby's eyes go a little wide; he's suddenly looking past them now)  
  
Scott: Yeah, I have a feeling you're gonna need it.  
  
Stevie: Why's that?  
  
(Scott casually pointed behind them, even as a shadow fell over the two. Mike and Stevie spun around, to see Fred J. Dukes's mammoth frame standing over them.)  
  
Bobby: Damn, that is one big boy, Scott.  
  
(Fred snorted.)  
  
Fred: Same to you, pal!  
  
Bobby: Wha . . .?  
  
Fred: Er, SHUT UP!  
  
(Fred snarled, rather loudly.)  
  
Scott: Sorry.  
  
Fred: (Seeming to be getting even more angry) You two punks think you can take me?!  
  
Stevie: Relax, man, we were just . . .  
  
(Fred grabbed him around the neck, lifting Stevie off his feet.)  
  
Fred: Just WHAT?! Callin' me a freak huh?!   
  
Stevie: Hey, put me down, jerk!  
  
(Mike D got up in his face, obviously not about to back down.)  
  
Mike: You might wanna do like my partner asks, before I get upset.  
  
Fred: Hey, man, I didn't come here lookin' for trouble. Lucky for you.  
  
(With that, Blob somewhat casually tossed Stevie onto Mike, sending the two toppling backwards. Fred obviously found this uproariously funny, as he breaks out laughing. There's a hint of cruelty in the laughter, and very little innocence. Whatever it was, it came to a quick halt when he realized Scott was in his face a split second later. It didn't take long for Bobby and Mike to take either side, behind him. Blob quickly backed off.)  
  
Fred: Alright, alright, geez. I didn't come here lookin' for trouble! I'll see you guys in the ring! Losers!  
  
(Fred turned to leave. He didn't know what hit him. For the record, though, it was a rather large oil drum that bounced off his head! He staggered back, throwing a meaty forearm into the table. Scott and Bobby's half eaten greesefeast dinners went soaring through the air. Bobby didn't even see that monstrous form of Crusher Hogan appear. He immediately attacked the dazed Blob, nailing him with rights and lefts for several seconds, as the other four scrambled back.)  
  
Crusher: You piece of trash!  
  
(Crusher finally pulled himself away from Dukes, who was covering himself up, far more shocked than hurt from the blows.  
  
(Although they hurt like hell.)  
  
Crusher: Don't worry about those two teenager losers, fatty!  
  
(Crusher turns to the nearest person, Stevie, and drops him with what could only be called a monster of a clothesline.)  
  
Crusher: Worry about me. ONLY me! Got it?! I'm the star!! ME!!  
  
(With that, he turns and stalks away, as Mike, Bobby and Scott rush to help the fallen Stevie. Mike turned to him as Fred slinked off into the distance.)  
  
Stevie: Thanks, guys. What the hell is wrong with that guy? I mean, we're supposed to be his partners for cryin' out loud!  
  
Bobby: I have no idea.  
  
(Seeing Bobby was apparently just shaken, Mike turned to in the direction Crusher had staggered off to.)  
  
Mike: I don't know, but he's about to have a huge problem if he keeps that up. Come on, Stevie, let's go get ready to kick some butt. . . or butts.  
  
Stevie: Yeah. See ya guys in the audience.  
  
(The two young would be wrestlers walked off, as Bobby shrugged.)  
  
"Scott, Bobby."  
  
Scott: What?  
  
(They turned, trying to find the source of the voice.)  
  
Bobby: What what? Er, which what?  
  
Scott: Didn't you hear that? I thought some one called us. Sounded like . . . (Scott shook his head) Nevermind. Must just be my imagination. Let's go enjoy the park, while we still can.  
  
(Elsewhere . .)  
  
"I think I've pinpointed them."  
  
(Jean opened her eyes, and removed an object from her head, gently laying it in her lap. It bore a slight resemblance to headsets, and was hooked up to the miniature gadget she and the Professor had earlier referred to as "Cerebro."  
  
(Jean was seated in the side of the candy apple red 1991 Mercury Cougar XR7. Her professor, and the mutants they'd met only hours earlier, Warren Worthington III, and Professor Henry McCoy, were gathered around the car, their meal and introductions just over with.)  
  
Jean: There's more, sir. Another mutant. He seems. . . malicious. Like he's about to explode. A confrontation between him and Scott . . . and Bobby .. . . Professor, I think I need to . . . . we need to be there.  
  
Warren: Then I guess it's settled. Mr. Xavier, you've made a good point for respecting their wishes, but I don't think it would hurt to, you know, go take a look see.  
  
(Xavier nodded, solemnly.)  
  
Xavier: I would concur. Nevertheless, I feel we're going to need some teamwork.  
  
Warren: And, of course, every team needs a leader, which would be you, right?  
  
(Xavier nods, taking the good humored nature in stride.)  
  
Xavier: I've outlined my battle experience. I'm sure Professor McCoy can verify this. If you have no objections, I believe this would be the best course of action.  
  
(Warren nodded. There was no seriously questioning the man's qualifications for this job. Warren extended his hand. Xavier shook it.)  
  
Warren: Then let's do this thing! I got a feeling, it's about to hit the fan.  
  
Jean: Not if we can help it.  
  
(She extended her hand, placing it on top of Xavier's and Warren's. Hank did the same. We'll see next issue just exactly what their team work reaps next issue.)  
  
Copyright information The XMen (individual and team) are copyright Marvel, Comics, used here without permission and not for profit.- Connundrum Comics  
  
Certain individuals (Stevie Sherman, Mike D) are original characters used with expressed permission of their handlers [owners])  
  
http://pub73.ezboard.com/bnewattitudeentertainment 


	4. Pre match antics

J's Intro  
  
Hmmm. . . . so IS anyone reading these? lol I only got five of these done for my original posting, a comicbook fanfiction "universe" that ended up closing down after lack of interest. Though I did manage to get covers for the first four of my titles, and most the other titles we did. =)  
  
For anyone wondering, it's supposed to be a new universe for the heroes. If people are reading, I might bother to continue it past what's already been written.  
  
So, anyone wanna review?  
  
Ownership notes: Obviously, like everyone ELSE here, I don't own the X-Men. "Stefan," "Mickey D," and Timmy Fantastico (and Dan McDowell who only has a small ring announcer part) are friend's characters, used here with total permission. Wilde and Rebecca are mine. Everyone else should be Marvel's.  
  
=---==  
  
(The focus of this small circus slash amusement part had, for the most part, turned to this somewhat make shaft ring positioned in the middle of a few rows of steel folding chairs. Yeah, there were other things going around. A young couple played a game of chance in the background. The arcade was a forth full. Pretty good considering the age of most of it's games. The ring held most people's attention. Nothing was happening right yet, though. Two matches and already gone down, and there was gonna be one more. Those matches weren't noteworthy in any way. This next one, though, was supposed to make it all worth it. Two promising rookies, a freak of sorts, and a former big time wrestler.  
  
(Yeah, out around these parts, it's not gonna get any bigger than that. so it caught a few people's attention. The first one, that'd be the one we'll focus on now. A youngster, just turned 17 not long ago. Grey streaked hair set him out, although he had a hooded jacket this night, just in case he decided he didn't want that noticed. Willend O'Tanque, his birth name. People called him Wilde. Right now, it was just him, and his older sister. She actually stood about five inches taller than Wilde. Not that he was short, but she was six foot two inches.  
  
(Yeah, she about stood out too, especially with that flaming dark red hair. She was a powerhouse. Wilde was kinda skinny, but the effects of his training showed in some pretty rippled bicep and stomach muscles. Still, cutest thing about Wilde, most the girls agreed, was that round, cute face, and the devilish smile that about seemed to dance on that face.  
  
(Wilde spoke, his voice giving a hint's impression of an old scratched record at times.)  
  
Wilde: Think dis'll suck too?  
  
Rebecca: I doubt it. I've heard good things about these rookies, Wilde. And Crusher's pretty big. Wonder how he ended up here?  
  
Wilde: Extreme bad luck, Ah'd say.  
  
(Wilde looked around the tent. As circus tents go, it could hardly be called spacious, but it seemed to do the job well enough. The tent was starting to fill to the degree to immediately make Wilde reconsider his statement of a moment ago. He could feel it in the air. Of course he could feel it. Anyone could, and Wilde was attuned to such things.  
  
(This wasn't the first time he sensed something might get his interest before he saw what he was looking for. This was definitely not something he was expecting.)  
  
Wilde: Whoa.  
  
Rebecca: What now?  
  
Wilde: Look who I see . . . Dat's Timmy Fantastico. He's a *huge* star.  
  
Rebecca: For real? Where?  
  
(Rebecca spun around, quickly spotting Fantastico a few feet away. Not that it'd be easy to miss him, of course, with silver and black wrestling shorts and a t-shirt with a tuxedo pattern on it. Currently, he was ducking under an extra sized slushy being hurled at him by an annoyed female.)  
  
Rebecca: Wow, he's .. . . ugly.  
  
(Wilde laughed.)  
  
Wilde: Yeah, Ah guess havin' ya nose broken about forty times'll do that to you.  
  
(Fantastico's ears popped up. Overhearing people talk about breaking your nose repeatedly was about the same as screaming out his name, after all. He quickly sauntered towards Wilde and Rebecca. "Sauntered" meaning in a more or less masculine way.)  
  
Wilde: Um. . . whoa. Hi!  
  
(Timmy ignored Wilde, focusing instead on his powerhouse of a sister.)  
  
Timmy: What Joo doing with this gringo when you could be hangin' with dat superstar Timmy Fantastico?  
  
Rebecca: Hey! This 'loser' is my brother!  
  
Wilde: Yea . . . hey!  
  
Rebecca: Oops, sorry, Wilde. (Rebecca turned her attention back to Fantastico) Sorry, not interested.  
  
Timmy: (Flashing a wolfish smile) Ah, but I think I could get your interest if I show you what's in my pants.  
  
(Rebecca's eyes suddenly flared up.)  
  
Rebecca: EX scuse me?!  
  
Timmy: (Panicking, realizing what he'd said) I mean, what I mean is . . .   
  
Rebecca: What you meant is, "Good bye . . ."  
  
(She stepped closer, towering over the superstar wrestler in the same menacing way she'd done over her brother so many times)  
  
Rebecca: Right?  
  
Timmy: I . . . but . . . (meekly) Firestorm tickets? (Putting his hands up defensively) Aw, fine. I never didj'n't like redheads anyway.  
  
(Timmy turned, and sulked off and Rebecca and her brother went back to enjoying the pre match noise. He muttered a little to himself as he wondered over the dirt circus floor, which naturally lead him to the entrance . . . and young Jean Grey. She looked a bit different, dressed up in an overgrown sweatshirt, her hair tied up in a bun, almost. Probably to keep her from being noticed so quickly by Scott and Bobby. Timmy quickly eyed her.)  
  
Timmy: Oh, look at dat, esse. I always did like redheads.  
  
(He strode up to her, somehow confident in spite his chinless, piggish face.)  
  
Timmy: Hey, chica, you wanna dump this dump and see what's under the ireal/i big top tent?  
  
(Jean actually smiled, then made eye contact with him. A split second after Timmy's eyes finished glazing over, he walked off.)  
  
Timmy: Maybe I should hit on her before takin' dis random job home . . . nah, two states ain't that far, eeshe . . . Ah'll . . . . (He was starting to slur his words a little.)  
  
(Jean giggled, watching him walk off. Granted, the professor didn't approve of that use of her powers, but he wasn't here. Sides, the guy probably deserved it, anyway. Jean scanned the area with her mind and eyes. She was using a little trick Xavier taught her in their early lessons to keep attention as off her as possible without actually drawing attention to herself. Still, it was hardly a guarantee. With so many people around here, it really would be in her best interests to scout out somewhere she could keep an eye on almost everyone while being seen by virtually no one.  
  
(Jean suddenly sighed, realizing it was too late even before the voice called out to her. She quickly spun around to see Scott Summers, starring at her. He didn't look very pleased.)  
  
Scott: You know if you hadn't detected me, I could have blasted you into the next state. If I wanted.  
  
(Jean did herself proud, managing to keep her composure.)  
  
Jean: And if I had, I could have mind-wiped you into a comatose state. If I wanted.  
  
Scott: Yeah, I figured.  
  
Jean: Me, too. .   
  
(An awkward pause followed, as the two's eyes almost met, before darting away. Jean decided to try a more friendly approach.)  
  
Jean: Guess that's a pretty good reason to be friends, huh? I mean . . . (She looked around) Looks like they already got a match here. So . . . mind if I . . .  
  
(Scott didn't answer right away. He was a bit busy making sure his cheeks didn't blush the same color of his Ruby Quartz sunglasses)  
  
Scott: It'd be cool, if you wanted to that is. I mean, if you wanted to join us, that'd be cool. If it's just you, that is.  
  
(Jean smiled.)  
  
Jean: Just me. I'm just here to talk. If it's cool. Where's Bobby?  
  
(Scott turned around, looking out of the tent's entrance, then casually pointed towards one of the tents.)  
  
Scott: Over there, trying to win something in case he runs across a cute girl. Which, if he joins us, would make . . .  
  
(Scott's mouth suddenly felt dry. He felt too self conscious to finish the thought. Jean seemed to figure out the sentiment, though.)  
  
Jean: Why, thank you. Maybe we better have a seat. Looks like something's about to happen.  
  
(People were still coming in, half casually, but there was a chubby man in the middle of the ring. The audience, Jean and Scott included, started to shift into finding somewhere to sit to take the action in, as the various popcorn and cotton candy salesmen made their quick final rounds. Jean quickly grabbed Scott's hand, leading him towards a first row seat. It wasn't long before the elderly ring leader, ring announcer, whatever, cracked a meaty hand against the brown microphone, obviously ready to start any second.)  
  
"Ladies and gentleman . . . I'm Dan McDowell, enjoying my unpaid vacation, and WELCOME to another match! WELCOME to our FINAL match! I hope you're all enjoying the night, and the best part is, it's time for the main event! Your referee . . . Jack Shade."  
  
(A fairly elderly referee, looking rather serious and grim looking, walks from the beer stand and clumsily slides into the ring. His long gray hair only shows a tint of it's formerly dirt ugly sandy brown roots these days, as, in the stands, Jean and Scott quickly found a spot. Not that it was hard to find one; place was still maybe a half full.)  
  
Scott: Let me guess. You were in the neighborhood, right? Just happened to run by me.  
  
Jean: It's hard to explain.  
  
Scott: Try me.  
  
(Jean looked directly into his eyes, or at least, the best she could with those ruby visors he had on.)  
  
Jean: First, you should know I have a feeling something is going to happen tonight.  
  
Scott: Oh, really?  
  
Jean: Yeah, but it's more than that.  
  
(A rumbling music starts playing over the circus's somewhat limited public announce speakers. It wasn't recognizable due to the low quality, but it sounded like some rock band out of the early 80's, with most of the words unprofessionally replaced by a rank armature college student. The lights went down, too, although since it was still late afternoonish, it wasn't that dark. Everyone's eyes shifted towards the entrance, as he wondered in.  
  
(Him. Fred J. Dukes was quite a sight for the small crowd, with the spiked blond hair, and the huge, if somewhat overweight, frame. He towered way over the six foot mark, too. Dressed up in an oversized, dirty as hell overhauls over an equally unclean shirt.)  
  
Ring Announcer: This is a three on one match, our MAIN EVENT!! Making his way to the ring, from parts unknown, standing at six foot, six inches, and weighing in at five hundred eighty pounds . . . THE BLOB!!!  
  
(Fred winced. This was his fifth match, and they called him that two matches ago. He got upset, alright, and made the stupid old ring announcer call him his proper name. Unfortunately, the stupid ringmaster screamed his head off for that, so Dukes didn't do it again. Tempted as he was. Still, not really in the mood to get fired just yet, he instead slid into the ring, and threw his arms up into the air, surveying the crowd. He walked back and forth, from one side of the ring, to the other, just like he was told to do. How stupid. He didn't come here for dance lessons!  
  
(As he did the routine, his music died down. He could hear 'em boo'ing already, but whatever. Another set of music popped up. The Boyzsaband remix of "Rock This Town," highly popular among teenagers and preteen girls, rears it's ugly head over the PA Audio system. Some of the regulars are clapping along with it. Jean joins in, as Scott twists his nose up in disgust, probably weighing the consequences of blasting the PA speakers into oblivion.   
  
(Something gets his attention, however. Stevie steps through the curtains first, dressed up in bright green tights, compete with small black tiger stripes. The shorts end just below Stevie's knees. He's also got on a confident smirk. Next out is Mike. Scott of course had met both of them earlier in the evening. Mike has no shirt on, and simple black tights. He's also got a short wooden cane in one hand. The two have just entered through a side door . . .  
  
(And they're not alone, either, as we see a very familiar face next. On the fans 'benches,' Scott turned to Jean, probably lifting an eyelid in surprise. Not that we could tell from looking at him.)  
  
Jean: Isn't that Bobby?  
  
Scott: Um. .yeah.  
  
Jean: Why's he with those two wrestlers.  
  
Scott: Good question.  
  
(He's also got on a one piece blue outfit, by the way, with a large white 'streak' down the center. Probably got the outfit from the circus props. The three quickly huddle, as they reach the ring.)  
  
Stevie: I just thought of something, Bobby. You need a nickname.  
  
Mickey D: Forget that! We need a plan.  
  
Bobby: Nickname, huh? Already took care of that.  
  
Stevie: We got a plan, remember?  
  
Mickey D: What plan? You're telling me you think we can really trust this Crusher idiot to work with us . . .  
  
Stevie: Good point. What's your nick, Bobby?  
  
(They're cut off, suddenly, as an explosion rocks the tent! Well, kind of. More of a semi acceptable version of an explosion over some rather strained sound systems. The crowd shoots to their feet. After all, he was a superstar. As "Paradise City" by Guns and Roses (the urban street myth legend remix) start straining the speakers almost to the point of absurdity, a couple of the die hard fans start up a chant of "Mega Powers! Mega Powers!" A nod to Crusher's once and recent tag team partnership with Bonesaw in the major leagues. There's not much special effects to spare in this particular circuit, but the circus has apparently popped for the appropriate color spotlights to shine weakly on the crowd. Blue, gold, and silver.  
  
(The man himself appears from somewhere. He's got on his rather well known black and silver ring jacket, with simple black tights. No words run up either, but the vest itself does have a large "C" on the back. Neon red lettering. Glows in the dark, ever so subtly. He quickly plows through his own team mates, sending them flying to the side. Mike and Stevie look at each other, wondering if this guy's for real, then slide into the ring. Bobby stands at ringside, not really looking like he quite knows what he should be doing. Scott for his part, is making it rather clear he doesn't know what Bobby's doing there either. The audience is quieting down a little now . . The elderly ring announcer looks a bit nervous. The referee is pacing between the combatants. Crusher and Dukes are starring each other down, while Stevie and Mike are having a last second conversation. The ring announcer continues . . .)  
  
Ring announcer: Their opponents . . . first, standing five foot eleven inches, weighing in at two hundred and seven pounds, from Boston, Massachusetts. . . . STEFAN!!   
  
(At the sound of his ring name, Stefan breaks from the conversation with Mike, and strides over to hop up a random set of turnbuckles, leaning his weight on the ropes, leaning over just enough to avoid taking a spill. He throws his arms up, then hops down, and bounces off the ropes.)  
  
Ring Announcer: His partner . . . . from the Deep South, standing five foot six inches tall . . . . two hundred twenty six pounds . . . . MICKEY D!!!  
  
(Mike doesn't seem to have liked the name quite so much. Maybe he's just nervous. Or embarrassed. He only shows it for a flash, before throwing an arm up, in acknowledgement of his name. He walks around, eyeing that short wooden stick he'd left with Bobby. He turns back, then walks to the center of the ring, and throws a solitary fist into the air. Half a second later, he's rudely brushed aside by Crusher, who stands in the middle of the ring, demanding the attention for himself.)  
  
Ring Announcer: Their partner is a special guest, MAIN ATTRACTION!!! He's a former multiple time world singles and tag team champion in several major federations worldwide . . . . six foot five, three hundred twenty one pounds . . . CRUSHER HOOOOOOOOOOGAN!!!!!  
  
(The "Crush 'em" signs are apparent even among the half full tent. There's even some Bonesaw merchandise. Crusher doesn't move much, but does kind of flex. He turns, shoving Stefan out of his way for good measure. Mickey, obviously having had enough, gives Crusher a shove, and lets him know he doesn't appreciate Crusher's attitude. Meanwhile, Stefan recovers from the shove by getting up, and starring down Dukes . . . from a safe distance, of course. Finally, Crusher turns to yell something at his partners. Probably hoping he'll get some humility beat into him, Stefan and Mickey quickly leave the ring, leaving Dukes starring the legendary Crusher Hogan down in the middle of the ring . . .  
  
(Everyone's eyes are intently on the stare down . . . . our last image for this month, set to the traditional start of the match, the sound of three bells.  
  
(Continued next issue)  
  
=-=-=-=-=-=-  
  
(J's Note: Obviously, continued next issue. =0) I am sorry it ended up being so short, but turning out a 'normal' sized issue would have been too much work, and I would have only got partly into the match, anyway. So I guess just think of this one as a set up issue.  
  
(I am desperately waiting for some new blood to show up for Conundrum. We have a few things expected soon, but we still need more issues! Please, please get in touch if you're interested in writing for Conundrum. Even though it's kind of strange putting this under an X-Men series, I think it'll help develop the Blob well, and be entertaining to boot. I'm looking forward to putting the next issue up, next month!  
  
(That's it; I'll save the rest of my comments for our new message board. Joshua) 


	5. The Main Event!

Here it is, the actual wrestling match. This was the fifth issue, and the last posted on my Conundrum site. There's another one I had started, that's finished now. I'll probably post it next week, because I'm still working on the issue after. Please feel free to read and review - it would be nice to know someone is reading this!  
  
Um, IS anyone reading this?  
  
DISCLAIMER: I don't own the X-Men. I am using Stevie Sherman, Mickey D, and the ring announcer with the permission of their creators. This is of course, non profit.  
  
Hope you enjoy!  
  
=-=-=-  
  
(The crowd was dead quiet for a couple seconds. Or, what passed for a crowd in this half full (but still slowly filling) circus tent was. The main event was about to go down. Even Jean could feel the buzz, and she was hardly a wrestling fan. She had a couple friends that were into it when she was younger. Jean had a lot of friends that were either into tv's or movies. Jean's thing was classical movies, especially romance. She took an occasional ribbing for it, but her love for old movies never wavered.  
  
(Tonight's feature, however, was wrestling. Jean Gray had followed the young man she was sitting with - named Scott Summers - after he'd fled the scene of the crime, so to speak. It started when she'd sensed a great evil. Her and her mentor, Professor Charles Xavier, traced it to a nearby town. What they happened upon - and successfully interrupted - was a battle pitting this handsome young man and his best friend (more on him in a second) against their bosses - Warren Worthington, the third, and his top scientist Henry McCoy.  
  
(She'd gotten there just in time to stop them, and warn them of an impending danger - one which showed up mere moments later! After battling a gigantic blue android that called itself Apocalypse, Scott and Bobby, worried about the repercussions of their activities, bailed on the others. After a fair deal of debating, Jean reached out with her mind to find where they were at - and once again seemed to sense a situation about to explode. She followed here just in time to join this handsome stranger at this hybrid of a circus and amusement park - complete with a couple wrestling matches!  
  
(Jean wasn't sure, but she got the feeling the 'danger' she might be was in the ring. Maybe it was Bobby? She KNEW he was a mutant, after all. Jean shrugged, and figured she'd take it as it came up. She couldn't tell what they were saying, though . .   
  
(In the ring . .   
  
Dukes: That's right, pal! I beat you, the whole world opens up! And you know what? I'm gonna do it!  
  
Crusher: You sure about that . . . Blob?  
  
(Blob's face turned an immediate shade of red. Crusher just laughed.)  
  
Dukes: Don't CALL me that!!  
  
(Fred D. Dukes had actually been nervous until this point. After all, this was a huge star. Not now. No time to think, which wasn't a major concern for Dukes. He threw himself forward, shoving Crusher back. Dukes was as surprised as about everyone else as the over three hundred pound superstar went flying backwards, through the ropes, and to the concrete floor on the outside. The ring announcer quickly scuttered aside. Stefan (Stevie) and Mickey D. (Mike) couldn't help but laugh at their own team mate's situation. The audience seemed to find it rather amusing after a second, themselves. In addition to being ring announcer, though, the elderly Dan McDowell was also charged with relaying the action to the fans, via his microphone and the public address system.)  
  
McDowell: Blob showing that strength of his again.  
  
(Dukes shot him a glare, trying to let the elderly ring announcer he did NOT appreciate the name. Not much else he could do without getting the circus master in an uproar. Old goats . . . Dukes's mind snapped back into the present, as he watched the superstar Crusher Hogan slide back into the ring. Crusher looked pissed off. Not like Dukes was expecting him to turn sissy, but man, that look in his eyes . . . Dukes didn't care. He felt confident now - maybe a little too much so, throwing his arms in the air, inviting Crusher to take his best shot.)  
  
McDowell: Blob's looking pretty confident already. Crusher Hogan looks all business right now, though, really laying into the Blob!  
  
(Dukes didn't even feel the first few blows, really. That's what he expected. That changed. Crusher was like a mad man. Dukes thought he'd back down, back off when he saw Dukes smiling.  
  
(Crusher wasn't looking. He was like a machine, now, pounding on Dukes until he actually took a step back. It was starting to hurt! Those damned fans were cheering it, too. What the heck?)  
  
McDowell: I can't believe it! Crusher's driving Blob back! He's looked virtually invincible in his first two matches, but now . . . no! What a backhand shot from Blob!  
  
(Indeed, Dukes was starting to panic, so he reacted instinctively by leveling Crusher with a meaty forearm smash. Dukes was too stunned from the offense to do any thing to follow up, though.)  
  
McDowell: I can't believe he leveled the over three hundred pound crusher like that. Looks like he ain't done, either.  
  
(Crusher's still stunned. Dukes simply walks over to him, and aims a kick directly to his ribs. Ouch!)  
  
McDowell: Looks like the rookie's manhandling the ring veteran now.  
  
(Fred snarled. It wasn't a pleasant look. Jean's eyes narrowed in concentration.)  
  
Scott: What is it? Something wrong?  
  
Jean: Wrong? Yes. Yes, I think so. Or, at least, there will be. It's like the feeling I had before. The one that lead the Professor and I to you in the first place. A feeling something's about to . . . explode.  
  
Scott: Explode? Like what?  
  
(Jean doesn't answer. Her mind's reeling, trying to figure out this overpowering sensation. In the ring, the action continues, unabated.)  
  
McDowell: Blob pulls Crusher to his feet. FOREARM shiver!! The superstar, Crusher Hogan, gets rocked into the corner! Blob charges! Hogan moves!  
  
(The ring shook. Ok, that's a bit of an understatement. The ring nearly broke in two from the force of Dukes running into it's corner! Stefan and Mickey D had to hang on to avoid being shook off the side of the ring! Dukes spins around, stunned. Crusher lays in a couple forearm shots.)  
  
McDowell: I'm not sure how much effect those shots are having right now, but Blob isn't totally shaking them off, either.  
  
(Jean couldn't help but notice the build up of anger was already swelling. It was hurting her mind to be so tuned into it. Scott noticed it, a bit concerned.)  
  
McDowell: Blob tries to fight back with a swing, and a miss! Another right by Blob gets ducked!  
  
(Indeed, Dukes had missed again, and he wasn't enjoying it. This wasn't right, he was supposed to be having his way like the last matches. They tried to hide and dodge, too, but Dukes caught up with them! He always . . . .ouch!  
  
(He found his fuming interrupted by a solid standing side kick to the side of his jaw from Crusher! Of all the nerve . . . Before Blob knew what was going on, he was clotheslined once, then twice, then a third time. The third time had enough force to send the mammoth Dukes head first over the top rope to the outside!)  
  
McDowell: I can't believe it! Crusher just clotheslined Blob to the outside! I can't believe the ring ropes weren't snapped by that!  
  
(Not waiting to be tagged into the action, Stefan quickly scales up the ropes as Dukes staggers around. Stefan bites his lip for a second, then forces himself to fly through the air, into the giant "Blob," Fred J. Dukes!)  
  
McDowell: Looks like Stefan's getting in the action, too!  
  
Bobby: Alright! Nice move, Steve!  
  
(Bobby cautiously stayed back from the action, of course. Just before the show, he'd been talking to the rookies. Mike and Stevie (Mickey D and Stefan by their ring names) weren't much older than Bobby himself. Once they got to talking about the match, it didn't take long for Stevie to suggest Bobby be their one night "manager." Mikey was against it, of course, but they talked him into it. As long as Bobby agreed to keep clear of the action, of course.)  
  
McDowell: Steve got into the action with that flying body press, but he paid for it when Blob pulled him off the ground and tossed him into the air like a rag doll!  
  
(Steve managed to roll as he landed, tucking his head so his neck wouldn't get snapped. It helped, as in it helped save his life. His body wasn't broken in two, but it did go instantly numb as soon as he landed on the cement.)  
  
McDowell: He coulda snapped Steve in half there, and he doesn't care! Here comes Mike D!! (He catches himself) Mickey D starts laying in his own rights and lefts! After the punishment Blob's taken so far, so he's not standing up to that punishment. Blob's shook, I think, because he's shaking like a bowl of jelly.  
  
(And the funny thing is, it's not from the blows - although he can certainly feel them. He was pissed off. Pissed off that the match wasn't going how he wanted. Pissed off at being called the Blob. Hell, on top of that, he was starting to get hungry again. Real hungry.  
  
(It would turn out to be a fateful hunger soon.)  
  
(Dukes swapped Mickey D back with a wave of his meaty forearm, sending Mike sprawling to the ground.)  
  
Scott: Man, that's one powerful fat dude.  
  
Jean: Yeah. I think he might be a . . . mutant.  
  
Scott: A mutant? No way . . . . well, I mean, I guess I could see it. You don't really think . . .?  
  
(Jean didn't answer, still deep in thought - and psychic probing. Meanwhile, Dukes had dropped Mickey D with a massive headbutt that sent him reeling. He ignored Stevie, who was just starting to move, and rolled back into the ring. The elderly ring announcer's comments about it resembling a whale just seemed to tick him off even more. Dukes expected to have to fight his way up through a Crusher barrage.  
  
(Instead, he pulled himself to his feet, using the help of the turnbuckles, to see that arrogant jerk standing in the middle of the ring, arms crossed across his chest. He had that stupid smirk on his face, too. Stupid know it all just got lucky, Dukes fumed to himself.  
  
(Crusher just starred as that flat Blob had to use the turnbuckles to pull himself to his feet. He was glad this fat piece of trash had tossed Crusher's partners out. It'd make HIM - Crusher Hogan, former WORLD champion - look like the big hero for sticking up for his poor, worthless partners. Maybe it'd almost look like it meant something in two seconds when Crusher whooped Blobie's butt. Almost.  
  
(Crusher taunted Dukes from the center of the ring about having to use the turnbuckle to get back to his feet, tossing in a few obscenities for good measure. He could see the fat nobody's face turning red with anger, but he didn't really care, as long as he would get this show moving. Crusher expected the fans to be breaking out laughing. They weren't, but they were probably just bored by Crusher's idiot opponent.  
  
(Dukes just starred at him, not responding to his taunts. At least, he wasn't responding verbally. He took a few steps forward, hoping to lure Crusher into a false sense of security, then suddenly threw his weight forward, diving at Crusher!)  
  
McDowell: Here we go! Crusher ducks under Blob's attack, and NAILS HIIM with a perfectly timed spin kick! What a move!  
  
(Scott knew this Crusher was a jerk, but he couldn't help applauding the move. Blob staggered forward. Crusher didn't give him a second after the amazing display of agility. A forearm shiver caught him from behind, sending him into the turnbuckle. Blob grunted, annoyed, and in pain. Again. Crusher smiled, mockingly. Dukes spun around, trying to wipe it off his face with another forearm blast. Didn't help, mainly because Crusher smartly dodged underneath it. Stupid coward, stupid move. Now Dukes was off balance, and easy pray for a simple shove from Crusher. The mighty Dukes, off balance, crashed to the mat!  
  
(The crowd started laughing. A strange reaction, maybe, and certainly one that only served to turn Dukes face even redder with frustration. Again, he pulled himself to his feet. He realized Crusher would just take this as an opportunity to attack. He relished in the idea. Dukes didn't have to wait, long, either. Obviously not wanting to pass up the chance to press his advantage, Crusher stalked forward before Dukes had even totally regained his footing. He yanked his head back, just barely avoiding a right cross from Crusher. It wasn't much of a head movement; Dukes was hardly some pansy gymnast, after all. But just like he thought, Crusher didn't expect much movement from the mountain sized man. Dukes didn't give him time to worry about that, though. Another forearm shot rocked Crusher, sending him back. Now to try that fancy new move Dukes had been taught.  
  
(Crusher didn't expect the forearm shot. Stupid rookie still fighting? he thought. He had to punish him for that. No other option if he wanted to maintain his level of respect, tattered thought it was. This was just a little part of getting back the respect that belonged to him that he never should have lost in the first place. Too much thinking; he hardly managed to duck under that sloppy clothesline attempt. He figured Dukes would be coming off the other ropes, but when he turned around, it didn't matter. Standing mule kick was almost absorbed into that ugly gut of this "Blob" character, but it had it's intended effect. But it allowed Crusher to set himself up for his crowd pleaser. A right cross caught Dukes one second. Crusher allowed the familiar momentum to swing his body around, straight into a perfectly timed crescent hook kick to the fat slob's throat. Crusher didn't even bother to turn around, soaking in the fan reaction. He frowned. Sure, it kind of got a buzz, but these fans were probably too stupid to know how exciting a move they'd just witnessed. It burned Crusher. Just like always, all his hard work going to waste because or someone else's mistakes and stupidity.)  
  
McDowell: Now Crusher's really taking over!  
  
(Stefan and Mickey D was eyeing it intently, obviously eager to be a part of the action. They'd soon get that chance, it seemed, when Crusher wondered towards their corner, obviously bored. Mike could tell that by the look in his face. He reached out to tag in Stefan, who was obviously ready for the action, but something stopped Crusher, causing him to pull his hand back, and turn around. The look of boredom suddenly become one of embarrassment. Mickey, only a rookie, still knew enough about this man's ego to figure what was going through his mind. He wanted to make it obvious he could finish this freak off. When that didn't happen like it should, he got pissed. Stefan took his hand down. He obviously figured it out, too. He glared at Crusher, who didn't even notice. Crusher wanted to finish this monster off all by himself. Sorry, hasbeen. Stefan might not realize it, but all you're gonna do is cost us this match. That attitude, you'll just start getting stupid and careless, and that ain't gonna work.  
  
(Crusher, ego and all, was pretty popular, even in this non traditional, hardly even casual fan environment. The rookies had been working on fan relations, too, of course, both by design and nature. No one really knew what to think when an impudent rookie, Mickey D, reached out, and slapped Crusher on the shoulder.  
  
(He'd just tagged himself in to take on the monster. Bobby knew who he liked, so he was cheering. Scott saw him, and joined in. Didn't take but a second for Jean, despite herself, to get into the action. And this, dear reader, is exactly why, within minutes, the half filled "stadium" of a broken down wrestling tent, was cheering Mickey D.  
  
(Cause and effect here. That's what pissed of Crusher, even more than he already was. That's why he wasn't thinking when he knocked Mickey D down. That's why the crowd basically decided he'd turned on them, and responded in kind. Mickey was fuming. Mickey was being cheered. Those are two factors that can't be underestimated. The short but stocky Southern thug by his own admission had always had a mean streak in him. He wasn't bad tempered, but he wasn't someone that let himself be toyed with.   
  
(The shove from his partner didn't hurt much, especially when Dukes didn't follow up. Mickey couldn't say why, nor did he care. He got half way up, and dove a shoulder into Dukes mid section. The crowd "oomfed" even though the move appeared to have little to no effect. Not a problem. Mickey D - why did he have to take that name?- had gotten enough time to get in his feet. Now he was just gonna start pounding on Dukes, and see what happens. Turns out, not much. Then Dukes raised his arm to swat Mickey D away, or so it seemed. Mickey couldn't do much but brace for impact. He pulled his arms up to cover, then realized by all rights, as fast as Dukes could hit the move, he shouldn't have been able to cover. He looked up. To pretty much everyone's surprise, Dukes felt his nose - and saw a bit of blood on his fingers. Mickey D, for the first time in the night, thought he was very close to toppling this freakish, bearish giant.  
  
(But then, Dukes looked up at him. Dukes had this fire in his eyes, this hatred on his face. It was contorted - sickeningly, disgustingly, impressively contorted- into a mask of hate and fury. It hit Mike's soul. It cut through the determination. Mike was a bit afraid. Well, that's only half the truth. For a second, Mike was struck with pure terror and a vague sensation like he'd just angered a mother bear. But then the cooler, calmer side of Mickey D kicked in, and the fear subsided. It didn't go away, but that would have been a stupid response. Still, reason quickly kicked in, and when Mickey D chose to bail out of the ring, he knew what he was doing. When he chose that dive to be in the opposite direction of his team mates, he didn't feel any regret.)  
  
McDowell: For some reason, Mickey D just dove to the outside! I wouldn't blame him, with that look on Blob's face. But it looks like Blob's gonna follow.  
  
(Mickey D had been waiting for a moment like this. First, the crowd was into it. WAY into it. Second, they WERE on the outside. Mickey was sure, no way the ref would toss this one out . . . even if he did igo for the props/i, so to speak. Blob hardly had time to get to his feet on the outside as Mickey fished out something out from under the ring.)  
  
McDowell: Mickey D's dug up something . . . I can't tell what it is from here. Whoa, now I can. Looks like one of the tent stakes! He just NAILED Blob across the midsection with it! Again! A third time! The referee is obviously letting it slip!  
  
(Dukes really started to feel it now. His knees weakened. He shoved the small black haired annoyance back, but his legs felt like they were about to buckle. He stalked towards the downed Mickey D, eager to finish him off, but heard a sound behind him. Dukes spun around, sure that it was Crusher Hogan, trying to cheap shot him from behind. He turned around, expecting to see someone, but only seeing the ring announcer in the ring.  
  
(Then he looked up just in time to see a body flying towards him. Even though Stevie Sherman's attempt to nail the mammoth Fred Dukes with a flying body press from the top rope seemed to simply result in him bouncing off Dukes, the gigantic Dukes staggered back, obviously having felt it. Dukes clenched his stomach in obvious agony.  
  
(Something felt wrong. It wasn't the pain . . . it was hunger. His body felt weak. Where were those losers with the pizza? This was an emergency, his stomach felt like it was tearing itself apart.)  
  
McDowell: Blob wondering around now . . .  
  
(He didn't get a chance to finish his thought. Dukes had let his emotions get the better of him, and allowed himself to snatch the microphone out of the elderly ring announcer's grip. Jean looked own, feeling her own concern grow. Finally spotting the pizza, Dukes swatted Mikey D aside, sending him flying into Stefan! The kid with the box was too shocked to protest when he grabbed it.)  
  
Kid: Hey, man, what you doing?!  
  
(Dukes didn't listen, just scarfed the pizza down. He even started eating the box before he realized what he was doing.)  
  
Kid: What're you doing? Freak.  
  
(Jean almost passed out, sensing the backlash of hatred and . . . sheer power. Scott turned his attention from the action to grab her before she fell. As she did, Blob actually hit the fan! The lad went flying up and back, crashing into the remainder of the audience. Crusher realized the show was over . . . but he didn't accept that.  
  
(No one was here to call the action, and the fans were quickly getting the idea it was time to get out of town, as Crusher drove Dukes backwards! The two fell into the emptying benches, causing them to collapse. Jean, meanwhile, was trying to regain her composure.)  
  
Scott: I think we've got a problem . .  
  
(As the crowd quickly escalated into chaos, Jean couldn't help but agree with him . .) 


	6. The Battle with Blob

Author's notes. The first issue not originally posted on my Conundrum site which is now gone anyway, and it's a doozie! Hopefully the rest of the issues won't take me six months each to write, but this one was tough as heck. It's also the biggest issue so far. Hopefully you all will read and review it soon! 

DarkSabertooth: Thanks for the kind review! I plan to keep it up for a while. Glad you are enjoying. 

Joshua 

* * *

(Jean Gray was in the middle of a very long, grueling day. To say the least. It started out, at least, with some semblance of normality. Jean and her private mentor, Professor Charles Xavier, had detected what they could only classify as an abnormality. Something out of place - something dangerous. The plan was to go for a ride, maybe do some shopping [which Jean had very much enjoyed], and see if they could track it down. 

(Tracking it proved to be the easy part. The psychic disturbances and a series of unidentified mutant signatures lead them to the first few twists. Four mutants seemed to be battling, two on each side. Jean, with Professor Xavier's help, was able to silence the fight with impressive efficiency. The peace would not last long, however, before a gigantic being with amazing power had made it's presence known as it challenged them to "prove themselves worthy of survival" in battle. They almost didn't. 

(With Jean's help and Xavier's guidance, the four male mutants managed to turn the tide, however, and defeat what - in possibly the strangest twist so far - turned out to be nothing more than a robot. With the mechanical menace subdued, however, the temporary alliance between Jean's newly met fellow mutants was apparently off. 

(Without so much as a goodbye [although Bobby was kind enough to leave a protective ice shield as a goodbye present, to keep them from interfering] the younger pair, Bobby Drake and Scott Summers, took off, leaving Jean, Professor, and the other two behind. Their names were Professor Henry McCoy - or Hank as he insisted upon being called, and Warren Worthington, the third. Jean had to admit, once she got a chance to lay her eyes on him a little later . . . let's just say she felt a bit tongue tied for a few minutes. 

(That passed soon enough. Jean and they discussed following him, with our feelings being torn on the issue. On the professor's urging, She reached out, trying to determine where they were at, and if they were a potential threat in general. 

She definitely felt a threat. More like a feeling . . . a feeling that something was going to explode. Jean was sure of it. So sure, in fact, that she reversed her stand on the debate and insisted they attempt to follow the situation. 

(It lead her to this little combination of a circus and an amusement park, and to the handsome young Scott Summers. It also lead to this peculiar indoor wrestling match. [Or would that be "In tent" for a circus?] Jean could tell this was what she had been the reason she'd sensed and impending explosion right away. What was about to happen, or how, however, had been just beyond the well trained reaches of her mind, however. 

(As of a few seconds ago, when the gigantic person in the ring who the ring announcer had kept referring to, rather fittingly, as "Blob," had apparently flipped out and attacked a fan, it all made sense. Jean wanted to tell Scott how dangerous the situation was. She wanted to warn him. She just wanted to stand up. She couldn't. After that horrific backlash of hatred and anger from this "Blob" man, she couldn't even whisper a protest as Scott carried her off. The circus was a mess of chaos, as people started to realize this wasn't a game, anymore. 

(It was all too serious, Jean realized, fighting to keep herself from blacking out.) 

* blink * 

_Jean accepted the fact, suddenly, that there was nothing to do, anymore. At least, not right now. She couldn't remember why, but she realized she needed her strength. This overwhelming, sense numbing darkness somehow comforted her. Engaging, in it's own horribly slow way. _

Cold and impersonal, but for her and perhaps only her, also warm and inviting. Memories were going to show now. Jean liked this part, even though they were frightening, and she knew they could lie all too well. Still, it would break up the numbness she felt. Sometimes, when she first visited this place, a few years ago and for several months, she'd see a flash of it. 

The accident. When Katie - No! she reminded herself. She's over that, and she has to focus on what she's seeing. After all, it was a special treat. It obviously was someone else's memory. 

Even in the just post stages of toddler-hood, the figure in front of her wasn't all that attractive, either mentally or physically. Long, badly cropped blond hair hung down the sides of his misshapen head. Jean could "read" his age from the image. This was a nine year old, who'd be turning ten in a few months. 

Two grubby hands hold toy soldiers. One had the Captain America symbol on it. He sat cross-legged in a patch of grass and dirt in mock- violent bliss. A few other smaller action figures laid to the side. Human Torch and someone else she didn't recognize laid, from the looks of it. Within a few minutes of his exert childlike guidance, the old looking Captain America figure quickly disposes of the other figures in due order. 

"Alright." The kid smiled. The voice sounded full of youthful innocence, and an undeniable mix of hostility and aggression. "You got them, but see if you can stand up to your biggest nemesis ever . . ." He looked around his oversized body a few times . . . "biggest nemesis ever . . . Oh, man! I must have left my Captain N figure inside! I better hurry before . . ." 

He forced himself to stand up as quickly as he could, but it was too late. He looked up to be confronted with an older, greasy haired man in bib overhauls. Jean sensed he as truly ugly on the inside as the out. The younger child frowned. He HATED this part of his life! 

He smiled a grin. Jean couldn't make out from Dukes memories if he had all, some, or none of his teeth still. "Alright, boy! Time for the daily beatin's!" 

Jean tried to yank away from the images, but she couldn't . . . she had no choice, she realized dimly . . 

(Scott realized a few steps in, that she was already unconscious. How or why, he couldn't phantom - and he had no time to figure it out. The peril of the situation just kept increasing, like a hole tightening around him. People were fleeing from this "Blob" character, Fred. J. Dukes, Scott remembered was his name, but if Scott used his powers, he'd risk facing a full time mob. Wouldn't be the first. Dukes was waving his arms, frantically and dramatically going after anyone that got close to him. The wrestlers and Bobby seemed to be watching for the moment, trying to figure what to do, and what to make out of the situation. Dukes looked crazy over there. 

(He felt crazed, too. Like his head was about to explode. His vision blurred, but he could see these people were going insane around him. Suddenly something stood out among the gray haze. A piece of food! He had to have it. Something seemed like it was getting in his way, so he swung a forearm. In his mind, whatever it was spun into oblivion, as he picked up his golden saving grace, and stuffed it into his mouth. 

(Bobby and Stevie watched from a safe distance after Crusher plowed by him. They knew Dukes had suddenly become dangerous. How they came to that conclusion? Maybe it was the fact he left the impression of a fist in the steel supports on the wrestling ring. Mike didn't care, however. Crusher didn't want some rookie upstaging him. He took off full steam, intent on knocking Dukes into next week. [In Stevie's mind, the match was over - they weren't the characters they played. Dukes wasn't "The Blob," Mike wasn't "Mickey D," and Stevie sure as hell wasn't "Stefan." Crusher, on the other hand, would probably be Crusher in Stevie's mind, no matter what. Mike too a few steps towards the fight.) 

Bobby: Hey! Where're you going?! 

Mike: I don't know about you, but this thing is looking kind of dangerous. 

Stevie: And that's a reason to GET CLOSER?! 

(Mike grabbed Stevie's arm.) 

Mike: Come ON! 

Stevie: Yikes! 

(Just ahead of them, Crusher wailed away on Blob, who backed off in pain. Like he'd done earlier during their match, Blob leveled the famous wrestler with a forearm shot! Crusher was sent reeling back, into the last few fans who were carefully trying to get around the battle without getting caught up in it. Crusher pulled himself to his feet, throwing aside anyone in his way.) 

Stevie: Hey, if Crusher wants to get his butt kicked, I say we let him. I know a killer pizza place down the road and . . 

(Mike turned to him with a harsh stare meant to let Stevie know he was being serious.) 

Mike: Hey, if you wanna run, fine. I might not like the jerk, but if we don't step in, someone's gonna get hurt, and it'll probably be someone innocent. Bobby, you better stay out of this and leave it to us. 

Bobby: But . . I. . . I don't think that's a good . . 

Mike: [in a more authoritative voice] Go! Stefan come, on! 

Stevie: But . . . I . . . I don't think that's a good . . 

[Mike yanked Stevie by the arm and dragged him towards the threat. Bobby turned around, not really sure what to do, and spotted Scott in the distance, half dragging that redhead behind him. She looked unconscious. Bobby briefly wondered if Scott had done it, or if it was something else. Bobby quickly rushed over to help his old friend. They'd known each other as they'd attended the same community high school growing up. Scott was over two years older than Bobby, and, after a hard life at the orphanage, striking out on his own. 

[Scott had always been quiet, always been the loner. Bobby wasn't popular, but Scott was downright shunned. His aloof attitude and surely disposition might have had something to do with that. Still, Bobby had managed to warm up to him. In fact, when Bobby found out more about Scott, he ended up leaving school behind to tag after Scott. Scott didn't approve, but he knew what Bobby had been through. Somehow Bobby had gotten to him, a little . . . 

[Bobby forced his mind back into the present. No time for silly reminiscing. Bobby slid himself under one of the young redhead's arms.] 

Bobby: How'd she get here? And why's she unconscious? Scott, you didn't . . 

[Scott cut him off.] 

Scott: No! Of course not. It's just that, as soon as that Blob guy started going crazy, she just started to scream, then passed out. We need to get her somewhere safe! 

Bobby: Looks like he's got the same idea. 

[Even as Bobby and Scott try to figure a way out, Fred Dukes's apparent battle with the three wrestlers, and the feeling fans continued, as he sent Crusher flying through the side of the tent! Turning towards what he sees as the next threat, Dukes charged towards Stefan and Mike D. He'd never moved this fast before, it was like a freight train running straight for them for a split second. 

[Only within that split second. Within the next, the floor between the mammoth out of control mutant, and his would be victims had suddenly frozen over. The blob like Dukes foot caught nothing but ice, nearly cracking it through as if it wasn't even there. 

Scott: Hey! We can't afford to use our powers here, what if someone . . ? 

[He didn't get to finish that thought - Bobby's ice floor did it's job. A second later, Dukes's leg flew up, sailing into the air. Mass unabated, the rest of his body followed. Scott, Stevie, and Mike were hardly able to mentally keep up with the image as he landed on his back, and continued sailing towards an unoccupied corner of the tent. Dukes crashed into it, causing a resounding crash. Bobby hardly noticed it was falling directly towards Bobby and Scott before an emerald blast cut it off. The two pieces crashed violently to either side of them, even as Bobby sent a pillar of ice to keep the tent from caving in.] 

Bobby: Too late to worry about that. Right? 

Scott: (reluctantly) Right. Come on, we might as well try to help while we're here. 

[Dukes, meanwhile, had torn his way free of the tent, although judging from the screams outside, he was raising just as much havoc out there. Bobby and Scott looked up towards the general direction the horrified screams were coming from, but Scott's attention quickly returned to the unconscious Jean.] 

* * *

_ [Jean mentally winced her eyes shut at first. She'd known that abuse was a common problem for young mutants, when their parents didn't accept them. Still, actually seeing it was . . _

[Jean suddenly realized she was "hearing" light grunts from the young Dukes, and a repeated gentle, soft thumping. She then heard a heavy sigh, and Dukes voice saying, "I hate this!" Cautiously, Jean slowly opened her "eyes," worried it was some kind of a trick. 

[She finally opened them, to see the rather odd sight of the young Fred Dukes beating on what looked like an . . . animal caucus? Jean couldn't help but stare, wondering what it means. . .] 

Dukes: This's so stupid! Why am I doing this, again, Pa? 

[Jean looked up to see him. Dukes father wasn't really that fat, although the gut was noticeable even though that loose fitting flannel tshirt. He's got fuzzily blackish hair set in a short cut, receding hairline style. He scrunched his face up in a vaguely annoyed fashion.] 

Pa: Don't call me Pa! 

Dukes: Sorry, Pa. 

Pa: That's better. Now why do I do anything, with the exception of avoiding your mother, which I do for constant health? 

[Dukes looked up momentarily from his meat beating duties to respond.] 

Dukes: Finding a beta vcr to play your old jogging tapes in? 

[His father roughly tugged at his thinning hair.] 

Pa: No, you landfill! It was SPRINTING, anyway. The answer is, "Making money!" Now get back to tenderizing that meat or no raw fish for you, pallie! 

[Dukes rammed his fist into the meat again, obviously not into it.] 

Dukes: I still don't see how this's gonna make you money. Who's gonna pay to see my beatin' up on my meat? 

[Fred's father winced at that mental image. Who wouldn't?] 

Pa: No, you idiot! I'm going to open my own loose meat store! 

Dukes: Oh, ok. 

[He punched it a few more times, whistling a totally random sho-tune, then suddenly snapped his head up.] 

Dukes: Waitamin, you mean we can't EAT these?! 

Pa: No, you don't EAT them! What's wrong with you?! 

Dukes: Um, I'm hungry? Duh! 

Pa: No, hot dog and gravy lad. We're gonna sell 'em, m'boy! Finally be able to get that fancy toilet with the modern flushing I've been being read to so much about. 

[With that, Dukes stopped swinging for a minute to look up.] 

Dukes: Argh! Ok, there, you've done it, you've totally ruined my appetite! 

[He flexed his shoulders a little, then licked his lips.] 

Dukes: Nevermind, it's back. 

Pa: [slapping his forehead in frustration] It's back. Of COURSE it's back! 

Dukes: This's boring, this memory needs something exciting to happen. . 

[Jean hardly had caught that strange comment, and the implications there of, when suddenly, the whole scene in front of her seemed to turn to several shades of dark gray and ugly greens. Everything seemed to blur out in front of her, except, of course, for Dukes himself. He looked sinister, and suddenly, he looked a lot older. More like, say, his real age, Jean thought. Everything came back to her in a rush. She was trapped inside her memories, the same way Jean had been trapped inside . . 

[A cupcake suddenly appeared. A giant, way too colorful, almost glowing cupcake stumbled in on two cream like tentacles. Dukes watched in half horror, half amusement as it swallowed the shadowy image that, seconds ago, had been his "father," or at least, a mental graphical representation there of. Jean tried to move, and she did, even though her limbs were frozen. Strange music seemed to play for a second as Dukes's face contorted to one of rage. He howled into the darkening void . . ] 

Dukes: I'll avenge you, father! Delicious, tasty revenge shall be MINE!! 

[Shadowy figures appeared out of no where, with some of them seeming quite familiar. A winged shadow dove, seeming to save another shadow. Two more blasted Dukes from the distance, keeping him away from the cupcake, but Dukes fought, more tenacious than humanly possible, it seemed . . Finally, it grabbed a piece of the cupcake, and ate it. 

[A moment of bliss, followed by a moment of confusion, anger, and hatred.] 

Dukes: This isn't a cupcake. It's wood! WOOOOOOOOOOOD!!! 

[Then the whole scene turned red, as lava seemed to erupt everywhere in this gray scene that had slowly been turning into a circus tent. Jean watched in horror as, in the distance, a Ferris Wheel that wasn't there even two seconds ago was swallowed into a gigantic gray hole. This strange world twisted upon itself below her feet. She jumped to one side, then suddenly everything else vanished . . Jean was falling through the air, towards . . . she immediately sensed she didn't want to know the answer to that. 

[She was falling faster, and faster, for an impossible length of time, even though she knew it was only micro sections. No way out, no escape. She couldn't focus, she couldn't relax, she couldn't use her telekinesis. There was only darkness, blackness. Everything felt numb when she tried to levitates herself with her telekinesis. Everything hurt when she tried to wake herself from this dream. 

[She felt helpless, like it was about to end, very unpleasantly, any second. She tried to focus again, but it didn't work. She felt the vague sensation she was sticking her finger in an electric socket every time she reached for her powers. 

[She knew something was going on, she sensed the others needed her help. She reached again, and felt her bones suddenly rattle. It didn't make any noise in the void. It seemed like nothing did. She couldn't give up. Desperate, more so than before, she reached inside, trying to use her abilities again. Nothing happened. She tried harder. It started to hurt. Suddenly, she heard the Professor's voice. . 

[Things started to come to a standstill, things started to fade. She felt terrified. Terrified, but safe, for the moment . . 

[The professor had done it. . ] 

* * *

[Scott stopped from the momentary attack, as the others swilled around the rampaging Blob in earnest, trying to slow him down or even stop him. With a single swap of his arm, he sent the bald psychotic Crusher Hogan, and the inhumanly strong and agile Doctor Henry McCoy flying to one side with an ease and grace that such a big piece of fat shouldn't logically be capable of, Bobby thought. Scott turned to where he'd left Jean, still unconscious, in Professor X's arms. He'd shown up, along with those other two mutants, not long after Scott decided he and Bobby had to try to help.] 

Scott: She's coming to, isn't she? We could use the help about now. 

[With that, Scott turned, and leveled yet another optic blast at the Blob like Frank Dukes. He'd realized he'd had to pick his spots after one beam only glazed Dukes shoulder, somehow getting redirected and destroying a nearby arcade stand in a rather explosive fashion. Bobby's attempts to freeze him solid had only caused Bobby to over exert himself in his desperation. Stefan had gladly offered to carry Bobby somewhere safer to recover his senses.] 

[Hank staggered to his feet, holding his head. Warren quickly swooped in besides him.] 

Warren: I don't think this's working. 

Hank: I tend ot concur, although I can't find it in my heart to agree with the quote, "I feel sorry for someone who has to win at everything," in this case. 

Warren: That doesn't sound like Shakespeare. Let me guess, Bill Gates? Michael Jordon? 

Hank: Snoopy, actually. Pardon me a minute. 

[Dukes had pitched Mike D through the air without even realizing what he was doing. With effortless grace and poise, Hank somersaulted through the air, catching Mike midair effortlessly. As Hank returned him to a standing position, Mike took a step forward, ready to rush back into battle.] 

Mike: If you ladies are done running your mouths, I could use a little help here. 

[Hank turned to Warren as the rebellious wrestling rookie charged back into action. Surprisingly, Dukes had turned his back to them.] 

Hank: Impetuous sort, isn't he? 

Warren: Maybe we better keep him out of trouble. 

[Crusher Hogan was still laid out on the ground. The four mutants, Scott Summers, Bobby Drake, Henry "Hank" McCoy, and Warren Worthington, III, stood around the starry eyed Dukes, with Mike D filling in the gap. Crusher was still laid out, apparently unconscious. Dukes, oddly, had his back turned to them. He staggered forward, towards a popcorn machine, and punched his fist straight through it, then ducked his head in, eating whatever fell through, glass included. The others watched, confused. . .] 

Warren: Oook, now what? 

Hank: His actions certainly are most unusual . . 

Scott: He's just trying to throw us off. Get ready for anything! 

Dukes: Shut up, SHUT UP SHUT UP!! I don't need this NOOOOOOOISE!! 

[After finishing the popcorn, and half the glass, with surprisingly speed, Dukes turned, lifted the whole popcorn machine above his head, and hurled it towards Mike! 

[Mike's life didn't even have time to flash before his eyes before an optic beam spared it, courtesy of Scott Summers. Dukes turned, and suddenly found himself on a thick sheet of ice, hardly able to keep his footing. Warren, circling above, swooped in to take advantage of the opportunity.] 

Warren: Nice setup, now let's just see if we can't put this baby down! 

[Warren's suddenly a blur of feathers and skin, as he swoops down at the off balance mammoth mutant Fred Dukes, catching him square in the chest. Dukes manages to hold his ground. Warren tries again, only to find his foot caught in Dukes mammoth grip. Dukes spun him in a half circle and threw him into the air. Warren was too stunned to get his wings working, he realized, as he plummeted towards the ground. Hank, however, captured his old friends with an almost disturbing amount of ease and grace.] 

Hank: The expression is "Back to the old drawing board," my friend, not "plummeting to my death." 

Warren: You're losing your touch, old friend. But thanks for the save. 

Hank: Eh, I never was good with improv. 

[As the attack furiously continued, something occurred to Scott. It was like learning to dance. Dukes seemed unbeatable still, but now they at least were gaining a foothold. Mike D found himself nearly decapitated again when Dukes hurled an arcade machine at him, with no one around to save him, but he managed to just barely avoid it. Jean tried another mental probe. Charles and then Scott in turn warned her not to push herself any harder. 

[She began to feel the strain as she mentally deflected a projectile thrown by Dukes - a wooden mock totem pole - with her telekinesis. Her knees almost buckled, as the sensation of a small explosion behind her eyes rocked her vision. Scott moved over to balance her, even as he fired another optic blast at Dukes.] 

Scott: Are you alright, Jean? 

Jean: I'm fine, thanks . . . and . . . [her eyes suddenly lit up] I think I know how we can end this! 

[Bobby, obviously starting to wear out, but still trying desperately to encase the rampaging Dukes in a sheet of ice, stepped back, avoiding another random projectile hurled at him.] 

Bobby: We could use some ideas about now, lady! 

[Dukes, having fended off another well organized but ultimately futile attack, turns his attention to the nearest object - a sealed up hot dog stand. It's locked - so he simply rams an increasingly meaty fist through the steel sides, and pulls out a handful of hot dogs and buns.] 

Jean: He's starving. I think his body's started to mutate. It's trying to put on extra mass, and as a result, he's starving to death. 

Bobby: Ouch. No wonder he's in such a bad mood. 

[Jean stepped forward, sending out a brief mental signal to let everyone know she had a plan. She flexed her telekinetic power a little. The dust around her scattered into the air, as nearby objects shook ever so slightly. 

Jean: Dukes, listen, we can help. 

[Dukes suddenly convulsed, as if in agony. Suddenly, he brought his foot up - then down, causing the ground to shake, and globs of dust to rise up everywhere. It bounced harmlessly off Jean's telekinetic field.] 

Dukes: Stop TALKING!! There's NO ONE here! NO one but me and my FOOD! 

[Mike quickly stepped behind a protective shield of ice Bobby had thrown up.] 

Bobby: Yeah, and here I thought there was a chance in hell talking would work. 

Mike: Damn it, this's really getting annoying! 

Jean: Alright - don't say I didn't warn you. 

[Jean lifted herself slightly off the ground and positioned herself to Dukes side. He turned, his attention now focused on her. Scott blasted Dukes from the side.] 

Jean: Scott, everyone, listen! We need to drive him back! Follow my lead. 

[The others nodded in agreement, falling into line . . Mike D. Sherman. Bobby, Warren, Scott, Hank, even Crusher lent a hand. . . 

[And follow her lead, they did. As one, the mutants and humans came together, making a massive, and strenuous effort to drive Dukes to a nearby farmer's field. Dukes, surrounded by food, even if it was vegetables, went crazy, eventually knocking falling asleep, finally ever so slightly full. The farmer wasn't pleased, but Xavier managed to telepathically calm him down, at least, long enough to explain he would pay for the damages . . . 

[The others let out a tremendous cheer as he finally fell, almost ten full minutes after he'd realized he was in an area of much needed nutrition. All except for Crusher, who simply turned and stalked out of sight, Scott, who didn't seem affected by the "victory," and Xavier, who watched, contemplatively. 

[After a few minutes of relaxing and celebrating, Scott and Xavier finally returned from a private discussion.] 

[Warren was engaged in a conversation with Jean. Bobby was trading barbs with Hank. . . . all four looked up when they caught eye of the returning "Duo of Somberness . . ."] 

Bobby: There you two are. Scott, we really should split, you know? I mean, someone's gonna find that human blob, and I don't think we wanna be around when . . . 

Scott: (interrupting) Actually, we're going to have to take care of him. 

Bobby: What? Are you INSANE?! 

Xavier: I can insure you, we're in complete control of our senses. What I'm proposing is more than simply detaining a mutant. I'm proposing that we pool our individual talents into a collective unit. Bobby, pay attention! 

Bobby: Yes, sir. I mean . . . I am paying attention! I just have no idea what you were talking about, so I wanted to focus on freeing Warren's wings together. 

Warren: HEY!! 

[Warren flexes his wings, shaking off the frost.] 

Warren: Well, I can promise I was paying attention, and I'm still not sure what you're hinting at. 

Hank: If I might interject, I would hypothesis that, based upon our stellar results against a pair of obviously suprerhuman threats, the professor was so jubilent over seeing our amazing display of teamwork, that he feels obligated to try to pool that potential into a dynamic, cohesive unit designed to protect and serve our world. 

Bobby: Um right. So did you actually expect that to help clarify things for me? 

Hank: In other words, he wants us to get together and fight the bad guys. 

Bobby: That, I can relate to. 

[Hank turned to discuss the matter further with Warren, while Bobby turned to listen to Scott's and Jean's take on the situation.] 

Hank: Interesting proposition. Considering our recent misadventures at the laboratory, I suspect we'll have time to persue alternate activities while they rebuild the facilities. 

Warren: Assuming they even let us within spitting distance of the building. I don't think my father's going to take too kindly to knowing a couple of mutants were behind our little fiasco with Apocalypse. 

Hank: True . . . Although I'm sure we could convince him of the benefits of keeping us on board. 

Warren: He HAS always told me I should learn this "mutant thing" and "take it seriously. 

[Warren rolled his eyes.] 

Warren: And he has a point. 

Hank: Well, if wonders never cease. Somehow I never pictured you as publicly admitting your father was correct in any situation. 

[Annoyed look flashed across Warren's face.] 

Warren: Didn't say he was *right.* Just that he had a point. I guess I could give the idea a listen. 

[The other five turned, almost in sync, to Xavier.] 

Bobby: Hey, if Scott's in, I'm in. 

Scott: I've got a few more questions, but this sounds like just what I need. Maybe it'll even help me find . . . [Rather than finish, Scott flashed an impatient look across Warren and Hank] So, you're in, or no? 

Warren: No promises . . . but I think we like what we're hearing. 

Hank: A brighter tomorrow, brought to you by the people of tomorrow. Eh. Why not? 

[Xavier folded his hands into a temple formation, as a soft smile passed over his otherwise hard features.] 

Xavier: Most pleasing news. I'm sure you'll find this project suitable to your ends, so let us convince at a more . . . . discreet location, and I'll lay out my dream of a better world, my young . . . . X-Men. 

[End chapter] 


	7. X marks the mansion

_Alright! I am gonna do this one a wee bit differently, in hopes if getting some better results. Now that I've been exposed to a few talented writers on here, I am realizing I'd be best off taking a more familiar tone .. . . hope you enjoy! _

Come to think of it - hope you review. ;) 

Other points of interest. I am taking requests or suggestions for future villains you'd like to see my take on! Although I have some loose plans for the next however many issues, I wouldn't mind getting some feedback here. 

I especially would like feedback on the change in styles, from script format to story mode! 

  


* * *

Issue #7 X-Men   


"Gentleman, welcome to the Xavier Institute." 

Bobby's jaw had dropped seeing the place from a distance. He'd seen a lot of things since finding out he was a mutant, since being kicked out of his own home. "Son, dress warmly, there's an angry mob after you. Bye." 

That wasn't fair to his parents. They hardly had a choice in the matter, and besides, Bobby'd made up his mind to split, anyway. 

Things went downhill from there. . . Yeah, and after starting on such a high note, too. 

He hadn't told the others much about it. Only how Scott had helped him in the infamous "Fort Washington" situation. He'd tactfully left out the fact he'd still managed to amuse himself with innocent bystanders in the time since then. Oh, nothing dangerous, of course. Hey, a harmless freezing could go a long way in the right- well, ok, make that wrong hands. 

Now this place, he could get to like. Sure, it didn't look quite as comfy as an empty discarded television box, somewhere Bobby'd ended up a time or two on his recent . . . adventures. 

Bobby had decided adventures had a much less embarrassing sound to it than, "their desperate imitation of a hobo's life, while Scott looked for his dead brother." 

Realizing he was the only one not to say something, Bobby let out an impressed whistle. The Xavier family's been here ten generations, got it. Content that he was listening, Xavier resumed his speech. 

"Over the years, as true as we've tried to keep it to it's roots, there have been a number of changes, especially during our occupation during my years with a previous team. . ." Xavier paused. Bobby caught that look on his face, the one that said, "This subject will come up later - but not today." 

"It's also served as a school in the past," Jean chimed in. "Usually a private school. It did serve a broader public base during the world wars." 

Charles nodded. Despite being virtually expressionless, Bobby did get the impression he looked back on the school's history with a certain sense of pride. 

"So what you are proposing," Hank said, filling in the gap in the conversation, "is we make this our base of operations?" 

"More than that," he responded, smiling gently. "Much, much more than that." 

Bobby realized he wasn't sure if he was going to like where this was going. 

"A place for you to be safe .. . . " 

Bobby hadn't felt safe in a long time. Not since . . .. every mutant probably dealt with that, when they found out who they were. 

Who and what. 

"To learn about your powers." 

Bobby realized - too late - he probably didn't help his chances of surviving by dropping out of school. Not that he had much choice. 

"To use those gifts to make the world a better place." 

_Couldn't be too hard to improve. World sucks right now_, Bobby thought to himself. 

"And form a team, right?" Scott asked, shaking his head. "I never really pictured myself as a team player." 

"I don't know," Bobby answered cheerfully, "we've always made a great team." 

"Yeah, a team of two, real impressive," Scott answered. 

"Let us not discount your efforts in both the battles with the cybernetic fiend, Apocalypse, as well as Fred Dukes," Xavier said. The battle with the mechanical entery, Apocalypse, had occurred just after they met. Scott and Bobby fleaed, only to end up teamed once again with the other mutants – this time in a pitched battle against Dukes. 

Xavier had insisted they bring Dukes along – under an imposed telepathic sleep – in order to attempt to help him. 

Somehow Bobby got the idea Xavier was very rarely without an answer to anything. 

"Just imagine what you could do," Xavier continued in a voice that could almost be called passionate, "were you to combine your abilities. Forge them. . ." 

"Under your leadership, right?" Scott asked curtly. 

If Xavier noticed the bitterness in Scott's voice, he gave absolutely no acknowledgement of it, what so ever. His voice remained as calm as the gentle fall breeze that skirted the estate every so often. "I have the experience, and the ability to help forge you into something. Something to prove to the world that mutants and humans can co exist peacefully. Something to prove we're capable of policing our own." 

Bobby couldn't help but notice the slight change on Scott's face. If not for the fact Scott was unable to remove those ruby quartz glasses, Bobby doubtlessly would have seen his eyes visibly light up at the comment. Xavier chose to let the statement linger in the air. Scott didn't answer right away. 

Bobby glanced around, suddenly realizing Warren and Hank had vanished. . . . wondering where they'd wondered off to. . . 

Guess they'd decided it was a private conversation, one they didn't want to impose on. 

Scott's jaw tightened up slightly. "And you'll help me track down my brother? Like promised?" 

Xavier's frown deepened noticeably. "As I said, if he's alive, we'll do everything in his power to track him down." 

"If he's alive . . . . right," Scott answered him. Bobby had never known Scott to break down, show any weakness at all. If there was one time he could see it happening, it was now. . . 

But Scott didn't break down. He even forced a grim smile. "Well, like I said, I'm interested in this plan of yours." 

_Attaboy_, Bobby thought. Bobby? He was just sold on the idea of a warm bread . . . er, bed. Actually make that both. Food, a place to sleep that didn't involve the possibility of a poultry looking cop asking them to "move it along, fellas," and some new victims. 

Faces! New faces, Bobby corrected himself. He suddenly wondered why the professor was gazing at him so harshly. 

Oh, right. He's a telepath. 

Almost forgot. 

"I can assure you," Xavier said, "I rarely use my own gifts without good reason." 

"Yeah . . . " Scott started. "About that . . " 

Bobby had an idea where this conversation was going. He suddenly had the desire to be somewhere else. 

* * *

Despite the size of the estate, even the outside, it didn't take Bobby long to spot the two, standing, eyeing another section of the building. Bobby decided not to make his presence known as he walked up behind them. 

Hank surveyed the building carefully, letting a "Hmmm," out as he did. "Of the two expansions from the main building, I would hypothesize this one is the living quarters. Hard to say from this angle, though." 

Warren flashed that thousand dollar smile of his. "I could always fly up there and take a look, Doctor McCoy." 

"Oh, how impressive," Hank answered. Dry sarcasm. "I could leap up there, remove the upper half of the building with my amazing strength, and bring it down for further inspection." 

Hank shot him a look that almost said, "Beat that." 

"Or I could just fire you," Warren answered, not willing to let himself get one upped. 

"Assuming you survive long enough!" Hank flashed a fangy smile, and leapt at Warren, taking him down. 

Bobby watched the two for a few seconds, rather amused. Although they'd always been personable, Bobby had never pegged them to be the type wrestle around in the leaves. 

Bobby had only worked with them for a couple weeks. Part of Scott's plan to . . . . that was a long enough story in itself. Suffice to say, their intentions were hardly noble. 

Bobby had believed at the time Scott was justified in what he was doing. Maybe he was, maybe he wasn't, but he was doing it in hopes of finding his long lost brother. Bobby could respect that - respect doing something out of loyalty to one's family. 

Scott'd certainly been loyal to Bobby, ever since the day they'd met. . . 

Bobby suddenly noticed Warren, pinned beneath Hank after reversing positions, looking up at him. Warren had a smile on that chiseled face of his, as he called out, "Geez, some security guard YOU turned out to be! Can't even lend a hand against Big Foot here." 

"I'm too busy looking for one of your security files to hack into," Bobby responded, coolly. His eyes focused on something in the distance. 

Hank looks up for a second, allowing Warren to deftly plant his legs under the beefy scientist and flip him over. Warren quickly scrambled to his feet and glided out of tackling distance. "What was that about, anyway?" Warren asked, as he landed on the other side of the young Bobby Drake. 

Bobby didn't answer right away. He hadn't been looking forward to the subject. After thinking on the subject, he came to the simple conclusion there is no good way to explain hacking into someone's security system unless you were a desperate young genius, and she was an experienced older lady looking for love in all the wrong . . . 

"I seriously need to get out more," Bobby said aloud to no one in particular. 

"You broke into our security system because you needed a social life?" Warren flexed his wing in confusion. 

"What?" Bobby snapped back to the present, blaming the short attention on lack of sleep. "No, I mean . . . nevermind. Like we said before, we were looking for information on Bobby's brother." 

"Who you also think is dead?" Hank asked, standing up and brushing the dust and grass off his body with those oversized hands of is. 

"Well. . . . see, only at first," Bobby answered, suddenly coming to the realization either he was missing a major part of the story, or it made absolutely no sense at all. How embarrassing would it be to come to the conclusion he'd only followed a deranged psychopath through the country in order to get out of school? 

That wasn't true, of course. After Scott's intervention in the little mob incident, Bobby didn't have much of a "holding down the home front" option. Besides, the man wasn't a psychopath. Just determined. 

"Think he froze?" Hank remarked. That got Bobby's attention. 

"Wha? Oh, right. Like I said. . . . it's Scott's source." 

"Which I would absolutely LOVE to share with you . . . " Scott's voice shifted from pure sarcasm to a more serious tone as he approached them from the distance. "But we've got something else to discuss first, so let's hold it off until never." 

"Oh, quick, he's coming," Hank responded dryly. "Change the subject before he realizes we're talking about him." 

"Right," Scott answered, drawing the word out a little. "So I'm assuming you've been discussing the pros and cons of joining?" 

Bobby, Warren, and Hank all traded quick glances. "Sure, why not?" Bobby answered. 

Scott grunted in agitation. Or was that a sigh? "Scott grunt-sighed" didn't sound like it had much dignity to it at all. 

Scott ignored him. "Unless you're going to tell me otherwise, it looks like we're a team here." 

Sighgrunted? That's a little better. . . 

"'A team is a team is a team. Shakespeare said that many times,'" Hank said simply. 

_Maybe if I invented a new word for it,_ Bobby's train of thought continued, unabashed. 

Realizing the others were starring at him (well, Bobby was kind of starring off into space again), he quickly added, "Dan Devine. Football coach. In case you couldn't tell, I got a lot of 'inspirational pitches' thrown at me by college football captains in my day.'" He flashed that toothy, fangy smile of his at the others again. 

Somehow that notion didn't surprise Bobby in the least. Hank looked like he would make a hell of a defensive lineman. Or two. 

"Forming a band of . . . what, heroes? Renegades? Political party for the greater good of mutants everywhere?" Warren scratched his chin, deep in thought. "It's noble and all, but it kind of sounds . . ." 

"Melodramatic," Hank suggested with a smile. "Perhaps even a trifle silly. Nevertheless, I think it's an opportunity deserving of a chance." 

"I guess we could spare a few weeks away from the labs," Warren answered, still mulling it over in his head. 

"Great to hear!" The voice of Jean Gray. The others turned to greet her. It wasn't much of a stretch to say the four considered Jean one of the definite perks of this proposal. Bobby wasn't sure if it was just him, or if the color drained ever so slightly from her face when they turned to greet her. 

Heh, a shy mind reader. That must suck. 

Hank bowed steeply as she walked up between the four. 

All eyes on her, she realized. "I promise you, then, you've made the right decision." 

Bobby wondered . . . still felt like someone was pulling their strings, but he wasn't sure who. Xavier and Jean were both telepaths . . . Jean glanced a look at Bobby, making him wonder if she'd caught that stray thought, but she said nothing. 

Maybe it was Hank or Warren who'd set up the information leak in order to lure Bobby and Scott to it? After all, they handled some pretty big robotic research there, thanks to the tie in with Lexcorps. But it wasn't like they worked for Stark Technologies. Could they have even come close to building a robot of that size? 

And to what end? After all, they would have had to have known about Bobby and Scott to even set such a plan into motion. 

No, Bobby realized none of those theories made sense, but neither did a random meeting resulting in five mutants meeting and forming a super heroic group. 

Maybe it didn't have to make sense, he told himself, drifting back into the conversation. The others seemed willing to take Xavier up on his offer to stay at the mansion. Bobby was hardly of a mindset to disagree. 

"Right then, let's get started. I've a small but modest list . . ." Hank pulls out a large notebook. "Which starts with some subtly eyeing and then hitting on every female within visual range . . ." Hank glances up at Jean, who glares back. "ALRIGHT! Barring minors and any capable of levitating a mountain over my head. HEY!" 

Bobby swiftly grabbed the list from the Doctor's oversized hands. "Let's see . . . move furniture in. Furniture, pfft, snob. Set up laboratory. . . Calibe . . . something. . . " 

"I believe the word is caliabrate. . " Hank snatched the list back along with his explanation. 

Blank stare from Bobby. 

"He means he has to get it running," Warren offered. 

"Why didn't you just write that?" Bobby asked, to which Hank replied that he had, prompting a giggle from Jean. 

Despite the ruby quartz glasses, Scott managed to shoot Warren a look that said, "See what I have to put up with?" Warren glanced at Hank, as if to say, "I know what you mean." 

Jean listened to the exchange continue a few more minutes, until something else caught her attention. "Ok, guys, the professor needs me, so whenever you're ready, give us a call, and we'll figure out what rooms you'll get. Hank, would you mind helping me attend to our other . . . guest?" 

Dukes, no doubt. "T'would be a pleasure, madam!" Hank gave her a ridiculously over dramatic bow, then bounded to her side. 

"Wait," Scott called as she walked off. "How'll we know where to find you?" 

Jean tapped a finger on her forehead. "Guess." 

Scott watched as she vanished over a slope, towards the school along side the oversized genius. Bobby couldn't help but think this was definitely going to be interesting. 

* * *

Shorter than usual, I guess, huh? 

Don't worry, the action's going to pick up over the next few chapters, as the students get a taste of Cerebro, Charles Xavier's old team, and . . . the Danger Room! 

Plus a few cameos to establish what kind of world they are in. 

Joshua  
- "Please review me!"  
- "Hm, that did SO not sound right!"


End file.
